Kharlan
by joshuaorrizonte
Summary: A thousand years after the start of the Great War. Four unlikely heroes charged with saving the Great Kharlan Tree. A ToS Prequel. REVISED, SPOILERS
1. Chapter 1

**Kharlan**

**A Tales of Symphonia Fanfiction**

_Revision Begin: 3/11/07_

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Tales of Symphonia, or any of its components. This is a work of fiction meant to honor a great piece of fiction and is in no way intended to undermine intellectual rights. Please don't sue me.

**Author's Notes**: Did I say summertime? I lied.

This is, of course, a revision of Kharlan. I was re-reading it to get the feel back and discovered that I happened to rather dislike the style I wrote it in. I feel I've come a long way since I started writing it, and that I could do much, much better.

In this, I've decided to delete the previously completed chapters entirely. I have no clue if this is proper etiquette and I apologize if it's not. I admit that I'm too lazy to double-check and that makes me a jerk of sorts.

The upside to this is that this chapter is a prologue, previously unreleased. New material! Enjoy.

-Joshua

* * *

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

The young ninja kicked a stone as they walked. He had done as he was instructed, escorting the two humans from the meeting point to their destination... if they ever arrived, that is. It seemed that the situation was more dire than originally thought. Volt was never _this_ testy, refusing to power the Rheiards... again, an erroneous assumption.

The truth was that Volt was exhausted. The ninja kicked another stone, this time more absently than irritated. They'd have never known if he hadn't specifically asked to take that detour to the Temple of Lightning, and it was fortunate they did. They may have dallied for quite some time.

The two he was escorting was an... interesting... pair. The first a member of the royal family of Sylvarant, the second a Baroness of Tethe'alla, under permanent house arrest. Both parties had to be spirited away in secret, due to this ridiculous war and the circumstances they'd found themselves in. It was awkward in more ways than one, for all three.

The young man didn't care about why it was uncomfortable for the humans. It had nothing to do with him. He only cared why it was uncomfortable for _him_, and _that_ was because they were doing everything in their power to make sure that the tension in the group was tangible. At times the smothered aggression and ill-will seemed to slow his very thoughts, forcing him to plod sluggishly through the muck of their mangled issues with each other. He would be relieved when they could be sent back to their respective homes.

The three of them topped a hill, the young man stopping. His sharper eyes scanned the horizon as he oriented himself, and found their destination. He pointed, his heart sinking as his hand rose. "There, you see? It's just as Maxwell said... worse, it appears."

The humans murmured in dread agreement, the very first time they said anything civil to each other since this blasted job began. "We need to find a way to stop this, Styx," the woman said quietly.

"I agree." Both sets of eyes turned to the young escort.

The ninja held up his hands, as if warding off an impending blow. "I told you, I can't," he said helplessly. "Maxwell has already told me that I wouldn't be able to handle all that mana. I barely qualified to create a pact with Volt in the first place," he added sullenly.

The woman smiled at him, baring teeth. He shivered. He could swear the woman sharpened them... "You did tell us, Kuro. However, you ought to know that only an Elf or half-breed could handle that sort of power flow." The way she said "Elf" gave Kuro a bad taste in his mouth, and half-breed was practically snarled. Even Styx frowned in disapproval. "You're more in the know than we are."

"I don't know any Elves of Half-Elves who would be able to do this," Kuro responded evenly. "I've been living with Maxwell since the people of Mizuho saw it happening. I've told you this as well, Erizabet. And you also know that I haven't been to Heimdall in almost a century."

"Of course. It slipped my mind. Forgive me."

"I'm sure it 'slipped your mind,'" Styx replied under his breath. He ignored the viscous glare Erizabet shot him and said, "We aren't doing what we need to, standing here staring at it. Our mission was to either find someone who could carry out the mission of uniting the Summon Spirits, or to convince our respective allegiances to put an end to this madness."

"And?" Erizabet prompted.

Styx boiled inside, but maintained his calm, patient veneer. "I believe we should go down to the Holy Ground. If we can take back specifics about the Great Tree, I think it will help our attempts at convincing for a peace treaty. It seems that is what we must do, as we've been completely unable to find _any_ Elves or Half-Elves."

"I agree," Kuro said, before the Baroness had a chance to protest.

Erizabet pressed her crimson lips together into a thin line. She was angry, although why was a mystery. "Majority rules," she said flatly. With a flare of her now soiled and torn cape, once exquisite in it's luxury, she swept past the two men and began her descent.

They watched her for a moment. "We better follow her," Styx said quietly. "She's as likely to finish the Tree off as she is to try to save it."

Kuro didn't respond. He fell into step behind the human and forced a stone wall around his heart as they walked. Otherwise, he would have wept at what he saw. The ground had been dead for miles by the time they had arrived at that cluster of hills, but now that they descended into the valley that sheltered the Great Kharlan Tree, dead earth became scorched earth. The closer the trio came to the basin of the valley, the closer they came to the tree, the more clear the devastation was.

Nothing _living_ moved in the valley. The Tree's trunk yet lived, healthy- for the most part. Many of the tree's expansive limbs still bore bright green foliage, emeralds shining in the glory of the sun.

Most of the branches, however, were blackened, the leaves adorning them either shed long ago or drained of life, brittle and ready to fall the moment they rotted far enough. Where those limbs connected to the trunk, the black deadness spread, like little skeletal fingers clawing to rob life from the living. Both humans had stopped as they came to flat ground once again. The man stared in mute horror at the tree. Styx was a good man, Kuro was not surprised by his reaction to this atrocity. He was, however, stunned by Erizabet's.

The woman noted that the young ninja stared at her, and lifted a shaking finger to point at the tree. "Tell us, Kuro," she said in a small, frightened voice. "Tell us that we're merely spoked by this sight, and that we're not seeing what I believe we are." Kuro's eyes followed where she was pointing; his sharp eyes saw clearly what Erizabet and Styx obviously so feared. A lump formed instantly at his adam's apple and refused to allow sound from his throat. "Tell us, Kuro!" Erizabet demanded in her growing hysteria.

Somehow, at the human woman's command, he found his voice. "I cannot," he croaked. "That is blood. The Great Kharlan Tree is _bleeding_."

There was silence among the three. "I think we have enough to make our cases," Styx said shakily. "Let's go."

"You still haven't said how I can tell His Majesty about this when I'm not permitted to leave Flanoir," Erizabet retorted, suddenly forgetting the horror she had expressed only moments before.

"And I _have_ told you that this issue is _yours_ to deal with Erizabet. And I'm not discussing it here. I'm leaving, with or without-"

"Hush!" Kuro hissed. "I thought I heard something."

"Yeah, you heard this pompous fool running his mouth-"

"Shut up!" Kuro snapped, chopping the air with his hand.

The ninja was already stalking forward when Erizabet protested. "How dare you! You aren't to speak to me in that manner, you-"

"Silence, Lady," Styx cut her off. "I heard it too. Voices. How far, Kuro?"

Erizabet bit off her angry diatribe and fumed furiously. "A quarter to a third of the way around the Tree," Kuro replied, as loudly as he dared. "Two of them." Styx put a hand on the hilt of his sword, and again, Kuro slashed the air. "Unnecessary. It sounds like a woman and a child."

"Necessary," Styx replied, creeping forward. "We have no idea what kind of- of _ghouls_ would come to this place."

"We're ghouls?" Erizabet said, making no effort to stifle her voice. Kuro wasn't sure he could take much more of the woman, thinking darkly to himself that if she didn't shut up- _soon_- he would _ensure_ her status as a ghoul.

The voices abruptly ceased, and Kuro cursed in Elvish. "They heard her," he said grimly, no longer muffling his own voice.

Styx drew his sword, the sound of metal against metal reverberating around the valley. "Show yourselves!" he called forcefully. "Move slowly, and without sudden movement!"

The two unknown persons moved gingerly. The first thing the trio saw were two sets of hands, one small and the other delicate. Next came the body attached to the small hands, a child of about twelve. The owner of the delicate hands showed themselves next, revealing a woman, her age indeterminate due to the grime on her face. Both appeared horribly frightened, both appeared emaciated. "I told you they were a woman and child," Kuro commented. "Put your sword away, Styx."

"Not yet," the human noble replied.

Before the noble could issue any demands, Kuro gasped in frustration. "Look at them! They're nearly starved and look like they've been dragged through a swamp! They're no danger."

"We don't know that," Erizabet commented briskly.

Styx offered no agreement, and didn't need to. Kuro ceased his protestations. As Erizabet said, majority ruled. "Who are you?" Styx demanded.

The child pressed his lips together, his blue eyes flashing defiantly behind a mess of blond hair. The woman, however, did not seem to have his inclination to trouble. "I am Martel. This is my little brother, Mithos. We mean no harm, travelers."

"Why are you here?" Erizabet said, imperiously. Kuro wanted to gag. Even Styx hadn't sounded so self-important.

The child spoke now. "We came here to die, apparently," he snarled. "We hoped to be able to shelter here for a while, if not forever, but nothing will live here and we have no place to go. So if you people could just go away and let us starve in peace, we'd really appreciate it."

"Mithos!" Martel snapped, then sighed, dropping her hands wearily. "I apologize for his disrespect, but he speaks the truth. We have not eaten in almost two weeks, have not slept in three days. This was our last resort." She wiped a hand across her eyes, sighing in despair. "If you would kill us, do so quickly. If not, then leave us to our deaths in peace."

_They're half-elves,_ Kuro realized in wonder. Styx sheathed his sword and Erizabet gaped. "What are you doing? You heard the wench! They're going to die anyway! Kill them!"

Kuro couldn't stem the rage any further and rounded on her. He was shocked into silence when Styx beat him to the punch. "Shut your mouth, woman!" he boomed. "No one is going to die this day, unless I end up murdering you for your arrogance! Do you realize who they are?"

"I know _what_ they are," Erizabet hissed. "They are dirty half-elves who are already bent on dying. It's not every day the creatures aren't trying to cling to their pathetic lives. If they want to die, do the whole world a favor and kill them!"

"You're an abomination of a human being," Styx said in icy tones. He turned back to the two bedraggled half-elves and extended his hands. "I apologize for my harsh behavior," he said quietly. "I mean no harm, either. In fact, I would like to help you."

"Styx!"

"You're lying," the boy said through quivering lips. "You're a human. How could you want to help half-elves?"

Martel pressed her lips together, green eyes flickering in suspicion. "I'm inclined to agree, once again. Considering one of you obviously wishes us dead-"

"She will be going her own way very shortly," Styx responded. "I am Styx, the governor of Triet of Sylvarant. This young man is Kuro of Mizuho. I would take you to Triet. There's someone there I would like you to meet."

"You know nothing about us," Martel replied. "Why would you want us to meet anyone?"

"We do know something about you, though," Kuro said. "We know you're half-elves. We're looking for Elves, and half-elves."

"Why?" Mithos demanded, immediately.

"It's too difficult for me to explain," Styx responded. He motioned to Erizabet. "She is a summoner. The Spirit she has a pact with called the plight of the Great Tree to her attention, and she called it to mine and the people of Mizuho. Her Summon Spirit, Maxwell, has asked us to take steps to try to rectify this situation. One of those is to find a Summoner capable of uniting the Spirits." He fidgeted uncomfortably. "Maxwell himself needs to explain further than that. I'm not sure I quite understand it myself."

"And since you two are half-elves, he would like to take you to my Summon Spirit to see if one of you could do so," Erizabet drawled. "Styx, this is nonsense. Don't you think that if these wretches had an ounce of talent in them, they'd at least be able to wash their faces?"

Kuro interjected. "Do I appear to be one of Mizuho's most talented agents? Don't judge a book by it's cover. Not everyone is as transparent as you are, Lady."

"I'm afraid she's right," Martel said softly. "Mithos and I are too weak to use any magic. We-"

Styx cut her off, desperation creeping into his voice. "It matters not. We can help you, get you your strength back, and then-"

"Are you dumb?" Mithos demanded. "Neither of us are summoners, either! We can't help you!" The overly-tough facade melted away from the boy suddenly; his face ashen and weary, he covered his eyes with a dirty hand. "Just go away."

"No," Styx said. "I will not. We're not far from the border. Half-elves are treated much better in Sylvarant than they are here, even if there is still discrimination and prejudice. You'd be safe in Triet, I assure you. You'd be safer anywhere in Sylvarant than here."

"We can't help you," Martel said numbly.

Kuro noted with increasing amusement that Erizabet's evil scowl was becoming more demonic by the second. "But we can help you," the young ninja said. He held a hand out to the two. "Come with us. Let us get you food and someplace to wash and sleep, and I'm sure Maxwell can help heal your wounds. Decide once you're well again if you can or can't help us. If you can't, you can do what you like."

The two young half-elves looked at each other; both were wavering in their decision to die. "What about you?" Martel asked, keeping a hand protectively on her small brother's shoulder. "You're from Mizuho. You're Tethe'allan. How do you not hate us as viciously as she does?" Martel nodded her head in Erizabet's direction; the woman finally turned away with a snarl.

Kuro didn't bother looking at the noblewoman. "You said why yourself. In Mizuho, such feelings as hatred and racism are seen as dangerous flaws in ourselves that must be overcome at all costs. If I _do _ hate you as Erizabet does, then it's my duty as a ninja to squelch that. It's ugly and has no place in a good heart."

"Do you hate us?" Mithos asked.

"Does it matter?" Kuro returned. _No. I could never hate my own kind..._

Martel seemed satisfied with Kuro's answer. "As long as the Lady won't come with us, then... I guess we can try. Thank you."

Mithos nodded in agreement, and now Erizabet sputtered into action. "Wait a moment! Kuro, you're our guide!"

"Yes, I am," Kuro replied calmly, turning to face the enraged woman.

"You said you're going back to Triet!"

"So?"

"You can't go back to Triet!"

Kuro shook his head patiently. "Triet is where my Chief stationed me, Lady Erizabet."

"How am I going to get home?" the Baroness wailed.

Styx saved Kuro the pain of answering the banshee. "You're a resourceful woman. You'll find a way. Let's go, lady and gentlemen. Hopefully we'll be across the border by nightfall."

"You can't just abandon me like this! Styx!"

Styx smiled at her, the first time he'd offered such an expression to the woman in almost thirty years. "But I'm not abandoning you. You're talented and, as I said, resourceful. You'll be fine, Erizabet. Take care."

As they walked away from the raging woman, Kuro finally let his aggression out as a loud, obnoxious cackle. "Will she really be okay?" Martel asked, looking back in concern. Kuro was impressed.

"She will be," Styx responded. "She hasn't managed to get herself killed so far, unfortunately. She'll probably outlive all of us combined, poor world..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: Tales of Symphonia, its characters and its world, are the property of Namco. This is a work of fan appreciation only. I get no material compensation for this writing, and make no claim of ownership.

Which is probably a good thing.

* * *

Kratos Aurion had a good deal on his mind.

He often had a good deal on his mind. A "special case" in almost all that he encountered, somewhat spoiled although he tried to control it, he wasn't used to things not going the way he wanted them to. He hated diplomacy missions to begin with, and this one did nothing to help his opinion of them.

Didn't those Igaguri fools understand that he wasn't their enemy? Yes, he had a vested interest in getting them to side with Tethe'alla, once and for all. Of course he did, he was a Knight bound to King Meltokio. But his interest was two-fold, and the second part of it was that his liege had the information and power to wipe their honorable asses off the face of the earth.

More and more he was becoming discontent with his King, how he handled things. But what could he do? He had sworn an oath of fealty. All he _could_ do was carry out meaningless diplomacy missions to a tribe who utterly refused to be anything but neutral, even in the face of a threat of genocide, with a sullen Half-Elf slave who refused to be anything but silent and grim-faced.

At the thought of the slave, his anger eased into pity. Kratos slid a glance at his companion. She had come to the castle about a week ago, a prisoner of a raid on the Sylvarant city of Triet. He forced his stomach to settle, as he did every time there was mention of violence between the two nations, and observed how this batch of prisoners were dealt with.

The Knight knew, with sharp pity, that this Half-Elf in particular would suffer the moment he noticed that she was not only the only woman captured this time, she was also the only Half-Elf. Indeed, it took only a day for the torture to begin. On the second day, King Meltokio sprung this mission on the Knight; the third, Kratos asked that _she_ be his servant on this mission, after having to rattle his saber and bloody a few noses upon interrupting a few of his fellow Knights brutalizing the poor woman. He wasn't sure if they'd done more than beat her until then, but he certainly couldn't in good conscious leave her there.

It wasn't so often, either, that King Meltokio actually granted such abrupt requests. Then again, it wasn't so often that Kratos Aurion made those requests and Kratos Aurion was, of course, a "special case".

So far, the woman hadn't looked him in the eyes a single time. She hadn't spoken; hadn't made any sound, in fact. He could tell she was beautiful underneath the smudges of dirt, ash, and blood, with brilliant green eyes and long blond hair tinged the color of sea foam, as only those with Elven blood could have. Those green eyes were dull and clouded now, her hair a tangled mess. She hadn't bothered washing herself after that interrupted attack, and Kratos now feared that the trauma might have damaged her mind.

That thought settled any issue regarding _her_ for him. Confident in his solution of at least one dilemma, he cast his wine-tinted eyes to the darkening sky, motioning to the girl to stop. "We won't make Meltokio tonight," he said quietly. "Nightfall is only about an hour away, and they close the gates at dusk. We might as well stop here for the night as anywhere. No point in pushing ourselves."

As had been since the start of this journey, the Half-Elf woman merely set her pack on the ground and began unpacking various articles; her sleeping blankets, cooking utensils as well as her own mess kit, other tools that would be useful in setting up camp.

For all he had done his best to give an impression of confidence, something about her withered his inner fortitude. She certainly didn't make it easy to talk to her, that was certain. Reminding himself that his dear comrades may have broken the woman entirely, he forced his outer veneer of calm and said, "I need to speak with you before we reach the castle again, anyway."

The woman paused in her labor, her limbs stiffened. This reaction held for only a heartbeat before she resumed her duties. Again at a loss as to how to proceed, Kratos watched her. He then observed that she was favoring an arm; digging the fire pit would be hopelessly difficult for her. Being positive that this was not an injury she had when they left, he concluded that she must have sustained it at their last rest, while preparing their meal.

Acting on instinct, Kratos put a hand on her shoulder as she set to digging the pit. Ignoring how she jumped in reflexive terror, he said, "You're hurt. Let me do this."

The woman backed away without argument, still refusing to look him in the eyes. He sighed, and set about digging with the small hand shovel she had procured. "You seem exhausted. Perhaps you should just rest tonight."

"Prepare myself for resuming my duties at the castle," she replied flatly.

It was the first time Kratos had heard her voice, when it wasn't raised in a cry of pain or fear. There was something melodic about it, soothing. His heart ached to hear it sound so desolate. "You won't be resuming your duties at the castle," he returned firmly, not looking up from his digging. "I'll be requesting that you remain my personal servant, instead of returning to general servitude."

A silence descended on the two, although it was far from a companionable silence, nor a thoughtful one, and not even a confused one. This silence was full of tension, of fear, of mistrust.

It was the woman who finally broke that silence. "With all respect due my Lord," she said in a low voice, "if that is your intention, I would prefer you kill me now."

This got Kratos' attention. "Wh- you _want_ to go back to that pit?" he asked, looking up at her with wide, shocked eyes.

She met his gaze, and now the Knight saw that her mind was very much in tact. "I do not. I want less to become a man's 'personal servant.'"

Kratos sat, stupefied, for several moments, before her interpretation of his declaration dawned on him. "Oh." _She thinks I want her to be my-_ "OH. Oh no. No no no." He dropped the hand shovel and spread his hands in a surrendering gesture. "Lady, I mean you absolutely no harm," he said firmly. "I requested you accompany me because I saw how you were being treated. I can't let a rodent endure that kind of treatment, let alone another sentient being." Seeing that her distrust was unwavering, he dropped his hands. "It will get better once you're under my care. I promise you."

The Half-Elf chose her words carefully. "Promises from someone sworn to defend the country who brought me here at sword-point against my will and separated me from my family mean little to me."

"I see." Kratos considered this for a moment, then picked up the hand shovel and resumed his work. "I do not plan on releasing you back to the custody of the government. As I have no intentions on making you my _personal_ servant, I'm not going to kill you, either." He ignored the glower she was burning into his head, keeping his face averted and his eyes firmly on his fire pit. "I suppose I'll just have to prove my promise the good old-fashioned way."

"I suppose you will," the Half-Elf replied quietly.

Kratos made a noise at this, sat back to look at his handiwork. He was losing his touch... but how well-constructed did a _fire pit _have to be? He turned his gaze to her again, pointing the hand shovel in her direction. "You know, it should be a testament to my word that I've so far taken no retribution for your tone. Another knight might have beaten you unconscious, if only for that last remark."

"Why haven't you?"

"Because I don't hurt people for not behaving the way I want them to," he returned. The Knight tossed the shovel aside and rummaged through his pack, then sat back, grumbling to himself.

"What's wrong?" the Half-Elf asked.

He was quite pleased, even if it wasn't with his pack. She was starting to open up a little bit. "What's wrong is that I have no idea where our provisions got packed," he muttered, staring gloomily at the bag. "I could have sworn I-"

The woman reached into her own and smoothly pulled out two packages made from grape leaves. "Here. I grabbed them as we were leaving Igaguri. You were so frustrated that you walked right past them."

"Oh." Heat spread over the man's face. "Thank you." Not bothering to take the meals, Kratos immediately started filling the fire pit with kindling. He felt her emerald eyes on him, piercing into his very soul. Without looking up at her, he could not tell the emotion behind her stare, but he imagined it would be contempt. Why wouldn't she be contemptuous of him? As she had said, she had very little reason not to hate every human in Tethe'alla.

And he would _not_ look up. Although he might be trying to gain her trust, he was still quite proud and refused to let _anyone_ see the pretty shade of crimson his face must be at the moment.

His thoughts distracted him enough to ignore her gaze, until he had to light the fire. He dug in his pocket for his tinder and flint, only to discover both of them damp. When in the _world_ had his tinder and flint become damp? Sighing heavily, he attempted to use them, to no avail. Finally looking up, he smiled at his companion ruefully. "It looks like this will be a cold dinner. I'm sorry."

The woman shook her head and stood. "No. Step back."

Kratos obeyed, albeit puzzled now. While before she had refused to speak to him, now she was issuing orders. Not that it bothered him; it was just peculiar. She was afraid he meant to hurt her, so she was doing the very things that, if he didn't mean well, would trigger such abuse. It didn't make much sense to him.

The Half-Elf woman focused on the fire pit for a number of moments. A piece of jewelry- a choker with a stone, deemed utterly worthless and thus she was allowed to keep it- glittered in the rising moonlight.

The fire pit flared to life with a _whoosh_.

The Knight knew he probably shouldn't gape, but it was an automatic reaction. The woman seemed satisfied, settled herself down and set the packets near the flames, although not so near to catch fire. She ignored his staring for a number of moments before prompting, "Was that the first time you had seen magic?"

"It was the first time I'd seen magic cast with just a look," he replied in awe. "How did you do that?"

The woman smiled. Kratos caught himself as his mind jarred to how pretty she really was, and how beautiful she must be when healthy. He set his thoughts firmly back on track when she told him, "It's something that I practiced a lot. Not many people can do it."

"None that I know of," the Knight returned. "You must be extremely talented."

The woman fingered the bauble around her neck. "No, not really."

That was the last of the conversation for quite some time. The two waited patiently for their dinner to heat, then ate in silence. When they were done, they sat in silence for a little bit longer. When Kratos guessed that it was nearing midnight, he sighed. Once more, while they were on the road, this woman seemed content to stay awake. He knew that it was because she did not trust him anymore than the monsters.

Perhaps just being cordial wasn't enough. "I would like to know your name," he said softly. Her response was a low _Hm_, almost too quiet for him to hear her. Once again, he fought the discomfort and tried a different route. "I am Kratos Aurion."

Silence, yet again. It seemed that all the progress he had made abruptly went away, frustrating him horribly. "I _need_ to know your name," he said firmly. "You're going to be my personal servant, and I need to be able to address you by something other than 'Hey you'."

Still no response. Kratos' spirits thoroughly crushed with disappointment, he sighed and settled himself. He wasn't going to sleep while she stayed awake. She would not be able to defend herself, and he didn't want to take the chance that he would not be awakened fast enough.

"My name is Martel, Lord Aurion."

Her sudden response startled him. He stuttered, and then said, "It's a nice name. Does it mean anything?"

She nodded. "Seed of hope."

Kratos smiled at her. "When we're alone, please call me Kratos. I don't particularly care for my title."

"Yes, Lord Aurion." There was a hint of teasing in her voice, but also one of… trepidation. _She's testing me…_

Not quite knowing what response she expected, he replied curtly, "Yes, that's how you refer to me when we're around others."

His response seemed to reassure her, because Martel laughed. "All right… Kratos." She yawned, suddenly appearing weary beyond toleration. "I'm sorry… I don't think I can stay up with you this time. I just feel so tired all of a sudden."

"It's fine," he replied gently. "I'm used to this, you are not. You should be well-rested tomorrow, anyway. I anticipate a bit of a verbal battle with my Lord the King, and then you'll have to learn what your duties will be as a servant to a knight. I wish I could say that you will have time to regain your strength first," he said ruefully, "but it's important that we maintain decorum."

Martel sighed. "Don't tell me even kindness to Half-Elves is punished."

"Kindness, no, regarding one as an equal, yes."

The woman's eyes widened. "Equal?"

He turned from her, letting the shadows hide his smile. "Go to sleep, Martel. We have a busy day ahead of us."

* * *

Things happened that first day as Kratos had predicted. He argued long and passionately about being able to take a Half-Elf prisoner of war as a servant. She was forced to stand by and listen to them speak of her as if she were a mere animal, of less value than even the criminal slaves.

When Kratos finally won the debate, her faith in him was wavering. He was clearly agitated still, and they walked in silence. He guided her through the palace, finally coming to a set of rooms she assumed to be his. She entered grimly and he followed, then shut the door behind them. Preparing herself to accept that he had betrayed her, being just as cruel as every other Tethe'allan human, she turned to face him proudly.

She was greeted by the man leaning heavily against the door, head bowed and face hidden by a hand. "I'm sorry," he said after a few moments. "If it helps, it was almost as hard for me to say those things as I imagine it was hard for you to hear them."

The shame in his voice broke her prideful insistence that he was an evil human. "You did what you had to," she responded quietly. "I think if you had let it be known that you didn't think those things, I wouldn't be here now. I might even be worse off than I was before."

"Probably."

"So thank you."

The man looked up at her, a hint of a smile on his humiliated face. "I've been using the other bedchamber in these quarters as a kind of storage. It'll take some time to get it cleared out. In the meantime, I'll summon the seamstress to get you fitted with appropriate attire."

"I thought what I was given _was_ servant's clothing," Martel replied in a confused tone.

"It is, however personal servants have a different uniform to differentiate between a worker in service of the palace and a worker in service of a noble. You may be treated better by others, because they'll know by your uniform that if you're mistreated, they'll have to deal with your master." Kratos opened the door and hailed one of the servants stationed in the hallway and gave him the order to seek out a seamstress. It seemed that the servant declined, because Kratos cursed, spoke again quieter. At the next reply, he looked back at Martel. "I'll be right back. It seems that I need to go myself." Without waiting for her response, he closed the door behind him, and locked it.

Martel stared at the locked door for a few moment, feeling like a prisoner. "No," she said aloud, "I'm _not_ a prisoner. He probably locked it for my safety." With that self-reassurance, Martel looked around the room in wonder. The Knight's quarters seemed to be like an apartment, the room she stood in a type of living room. A raggedy but comfortable-looking couch rested against the wall beside the door, offering a clear view out of a window. The Half-Elf investigated this view, revealing to her astonishment that the window looked out over the Royal Gardens.

Understanding slowly came to her as she continued her investigation; a desk was against the western wall, laden with paperwork. Several quill pens lay scattered over the few bare areas, and an inkwell sat precariously on the edge. Gingerly, Martel rearranged a few of the papers that were grouped to appear to be part of the same document, and moved the inkwell away from the edge. Unable to stop her curiosity, her eyes roamed over the pages. She could barely read Elven, and was almost entirely illiterate when it came to Common, and yet she was able to pick up a few words of the document. _King… head… order…_

The woman now looked to the bookcase beside it, packed with all sorts of books, some of them looking rather old. There was one that was worn, the binding cracked. She touched it, then in a spurt of bravery pulled it from the shelf and examined it further. The pages were gold-leaf, and felt brittle to the touch. Martel examined the cover, sounding out the letters on it. "K… ra… tos… Is this his journal?"

"One of them, yes."

Martel whirled, her heart pounding with reflexive terror. Instead of the rebuke she expected, he laughed heartily. "I don't mind if you wish to read my books," he said kindly, gently taking the worn leather diary from her fear-numbed hands, "but I'd prefer it be one that does not contain my life's story. There's little in it that would be of interest."

"I- I'm sorry," Martel mumbled. "I noticed the inkwell about to topple, and then I caught a few words on your papers and then I got curious, and-"

"Curiosity is a good thing," Kratos cut her off, replacing the book. "No one would ever discover anything if there was no curiosity. I'll pick a few books I think might interest you. In the meantime-" he motioned to the woman standing by the doorway, one Martel identified as another half-elf. The other woman seemed strangely relaxed, a great difference from the usual careful, tight, fear-driven actions that Half-Elves usually performed in the palace. "I will be clearing out the room that will be used for your private quarters. Use my room to do her fitting."

The other Half-Elf bowed slightly. "Yes, Lord Aurion." Kratos rolled his eyes, sighed heavily, and disappeared into one of the side rooms. The woman smiled at Martel. "Well, now, shall we get you better dressed? The personal servants' uniforms are much more attractive than the standard uniforms."

* * *

Kratos was able to watch in pleasure as Martel regained both health and strength, and then morale. In a few days, Martel was smiling frequently again, and a few weeks led to her laughing. The Knight couldn't shake the feeling, however, that something was terribly wrong. He would catch a glimpse of her, when she thought she was alone, and the sadness and anxiety on her face was overwhelming.

He wondered, the first time he saw it, what could make her so morose. He recalled, later that night, that she had mentioned being separated from her family. He considered making an attempt to locate this family for her, but what good would it do? He had no way- or desire, considering the laws governing half-elves- to bring any such family to her. He could consider smuggling her back to Sylvarant, but there was no way to do that without putting both of them at the top of the kingdom's wanted lists.

Besides, he told himself, there was no guarantee that he'd discover her family alive. If he found that they had perished in the attack that brought her to Meltokio, he was honor-bound to let her know. It didn't matter that she was a half-elf. A knight didn't withhold information that a person had a right to know, under any circumstances. No, it would be better to just wait. Perhaps she could grow to be happy under his protection.

There was one other thing that distressed the knight, and he could only hope that it had nothing to do with Martel. It seemed that the Prince and Princess of Tethe'alla were plotting something.

Princess Megan was like a little sister to Kratos. He loved her dearly. Prince Tylor, was a... different... story. He was, to put it mildly, a spoiled brat. He loved to undermine Kratos in every way he could, only because he could. Kratos had heard Megan call her older brother a 'conniving son-of-a-bitch' at least once, and so it disturbed him- greatly- when it appeared that they were putting their heads together to accomplish a mutual goal.

He was trying to ignore all of these concerns; truly, he was. He had to get the next report in to King Meltokio. Being in charge of procuring supplies for their army and funding the war, he had been ordered to make sure the King was up to date on _all_ transactions. Looking over the numbers, Kratos sighed. This insane war was going to break their treasury. It was only by Kratos' reassurance that they could make it without coercing further funds from their people.

He didn't think that he would be able to discourage the King from turning loose the tax collectors after this financial statement. The money had to come from somewhere, and like hell would it come from the King's own coffers.

So engrossed was he in ignoring his troubles and trying to crunch numbers that Kratos didn't notice when the stack of paperwork and books he tossed one of the ledgers on to tipped. He sensed the shift in his environment and looked up just in time to see the stack topple over. Kratos jumped up with a curse, barely avoiding being struck by a stray book.

"Kratos!" Martel banged open her bedroom door, the expression on her face nearly panicked. "Are you okay?!"

"Yes, Martel," he said quietly, somewhat embarrassed. "I just got distracted, that's all."

Her Knight's reassurance was sufficient, and she then turned her attention to the heap of mixed up pages on the floor. "And how did you manage that, Mister?"

"I told you, I got distracted!"

"I'm not cleaning that up."

He faced her fully now. "Oh, come on-"

"Nope, I'm not doing it," she said firmly. "I still remember the last time I tried to clean up one of your 'distraction disasters' and you were trying to sort the paperwork out of the mess _I _made of it for weeks. It'll save us both the aggravation if you do it yourself."

Any response Kratos might have had was cut off by his quarters door opening. Kratos stood abruptly, turning to snap at whoever the intruder was, then fell to one knee. "Prince Tylor," he said in a tight, forced civility. "I would appreciate it if you _knocked_ before entering my private quarters. I believe I asked you this- many times- but I apologize for my negligence if I have not."

"Yes, you have," Tylor commented. "I just forget. You'll forgive me, I'm sure."

"Of course," Kratos muttered through gritted teeth, and rose from his prostrate position. "Is there something I might help you with, your Highness?"

"Yes, indeed," Tylor replied smoothly. Kratos' stomach dropped as he noticed the Prince's stare rested squarely on Martel. "Tell me, Kratos. Is she a... _good_... servant?"

"She is a good _servant_," Kratos replied, moving the emphasis of Tylor's question.

"Funny, the way you allow her to speak to you gives the impression that she's not just a servant," Tylor mused. "It almost sounded like a quibble between lovers."

Martel made an indignant noise, the first sound she had made since the Prince's uninvited entrance. She would have continued but for Kratos's firm motion for silence. "I give all of my personal servants the freedom to speak their minds," he replied with dignity. "It is not limited to just this half-elf girl, it is all of them. To answer your unspoken question, however, I do not use her- or anyone- as a personal whore."

Tylor's slimy gaze slid to Kratos. "I would watch how I'm speaking if I were you," he said smoothly.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Kratos repeated blandly.

"Well, since you're so eager to be helpful, I'll cut right to the chase." Tylor smiled his snake's smile. "I'm taking that half-elf. She'll make a beautiful addition to my personal harem, I'm sure."

"Absolutely not," Kratos returned immediately, flatly.

"Oh, don't be like that! I'll make sure you have a replacement within the day."

"No, Prince Tylor, you are not taking my servant," Kratos repeated, leaving no room for argument.

His tone was futile. "This is an order, Sir Aurion," Tylor said, his smile fading fast. "I'm not asking for her, I'm telling you that I'm taking her."

"And I'm telling you that you're not," Kratos returned heatedly. "His Majesty the King, your _father_, gave her to me as _my_ servant. Unless and until you give me a direct order from the King _himself_ contradicting my rights to her, she's not going _anywhere_."

Tylor drew himself up to his full height, his face screwed up in a countenance of fury. "I had hoped you were smarter than this, Sir Aurion," he said stiffly. "But I'll play by your rules. You'll have your 'direct order'. Then we'll see how far your self-righteous attitude gets you."

As Tylor stalked back towards the door, Kratos turned to the stricken girl. "Clean this up, Martel, and don't argue. I need to go cool my temper for a w-"

"_Kratos, look out!"_ Martel shrieked, pointing behind him. The Knight whirled on his heel in time to dodge the thrust of Tylor's dagger.

Tylor lunged again, wildly, and Kratos maneuvered to keep the incensed Prince away from Martel. "Tylor, calm yourself!" Kratos snapped, managing to get a hold of Tylor's wrist to deflect another strike, but only for a moment.

"I _will_ have that slave!" Tylor snarled in response, lunging again.

The Knight's back was quickly being forced against the wall. Kratos's gaze darted around, looking for a way out that wouldn't endanger Martel, and failed to find one. "Tylor, I've been a Knight for almost as long as you've been alive and a high-ranking one for most of that time," Kratos said quickly, desperately. "You _don't_ want to fight me. You'll get hurt!"

"Oh ho, threatening royalty now, huh? Look who has the weapon!" With that, Tylor screamed in fury, lunging forward. Kratos stepped back once more, putting his back against the wall, and reached out to grab Tylor's wrist one more time. It wasn't enough, though; Tylor was moving with too much speed. Grimacing, Kratos twisted the Prince's wrist as Martel shrieked in terror.

Tylor's eyes went wide, staring. The Knight and Prince remained locked in that position, unmoving. Martel pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress her cries, praying through her fear.

Then Tylor slid to the floor, the blade of his dagger buried in his chest.

Kratos and Martel stared at each other, neither really comprehending what had just occurred. "I didn't mean to twist his arm that far," Kratos said quietly through pale and numb lips. Martel didn't respond.

A gust of wind from the open window in his chambers ruffled the papers still on the floor from Kratos's clumsiness. The spell of horror was broke. Kratos leapt forward, grabbing Martel's wrist. "We have to go, _now!_" he hissed.

"But- but it was an accident-"

"That doesn't matter!" Kratos said in a tight whisper. "I just killed the _Prince!_ We have to _leave!"_

"But where-"

"We'll work those details out later! Let's _go!_" Kratos tugged on Martel's arm firmly, hard, and was met with no further resistance.

If the guards thought it strange that a high-ranking Knight and his half-elf servant walked through the palace corridors and out the front gates with such urgency, none questioned. Many of them were told to obey Kratos's commands as if they came from their own unit leaders. After all, Kratos was a special case.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope this rewrite is as enjoyable as the original. I'm on medical leave from work for at least the rest of the month, so I hope I'll be able to turn out more chapters. ;

In other news, I have an account with now, and an original story in the process of being posted. That one might take some time, but it will get up. If you're interested, my username is the same as on or you can send me a PM for a direct link to my profile.

I love you long time if you go look! _heart_


	3. Chapter 3

The child stared out of the window, at the full moon cushioned by the light of the stars. He knew, deep in his soul, that she was still alive. He'd know if she was killed in the raid. There was a feeling in him, though, unsettling and dreading, that something was dreadfully wrong.

"Mithos! It's time to go, if you are still willing."

"I am, Lord Aurion," the boy responded meekly, tearing his gaze from the moon and to his companion, the man who would accompany him to attempt to form the pact with Efreet. It was dangerous, they both knew. Efreet demanded that the pact-maker do battle with him before forming a pact. Mithos would lose such a battle, would become severely hurt even if he attempted to aid Lord Aurion. Styx had to implore with the Summon Spirit to allow Styx to battle in Mithos' place. It was possible that the end result would force Styx to accept Efreet's power, as well, and it would kill him.

For this human man being willing to risk his life for both a half-elf, and for the world, Mithos felt obligated to try. Styx was willing; he had to be as well.

As the two descended into the Triet governor's mansion's basement, into the temple that was built in homage to the Summon Spirit of Fire, Mithos could only pray that this sick feeling was about _this_, and not any danger his sister might be in.

* * *

Martel stared out of the window, at the full moon cushioned by the light of the stars. She was disturbed, very deeply, and couldn't pinpoint why. The pair had traveled through the night; this moon was the watery moon of pre-dawn. Kratos told her to rest while he sought to bribe or explain their situation to Sybak's militia. She couldn't. Of course, being wanted for murder might have something to do with the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, but for some reason she didn't think this was the cause.

They had found a midnight ferry easily enough; word of Prince Tylor's death hadn't reached the port yet. Martel got an eyeful of the monstrosity of a bridge the King of Meltokio was trying to build, designed to span the ocean between the Meltokio and Sybak continents. It was the second time she'd seen it, and it looked even worse in the darkness than it had in daylight, sinister and foreboding. Why it had this effect on her, she had no idea.

It still wasn't ready to be used, and would not be for several centuries, if ever. Martel was grateful for this, more than preferring to travel by ferry than to walk across that thing. Nevertheless, the journey had left them both exhausted. She knew she should be resting, as Kratos ordered, but she simply _couldn't_.

She jumped as the door to their room opened, and turned to the entrance. "Did you get any sleep at all?" Kratos asked as he entered, closing and locking the door behind him. The man had a bundle that he laid on his own bed, and started to go through it before waiting for Martel's answer.

"No," she said softly. "I'm too anxious."

"If it's about our wanted status, you can relax," he told her calmly, pulling various pieces of clothing from the bundle. "I spoke with both the Dean of the University and the Commander of the militia and pleaded our case. While they're reticent about harboring fugitives, apparently my doing my job has caused them to feel indebted to me."

"Oh? Why's that? And what're those?" she asked, pointing at the clothes Kratos had spread out on his bed.

"Those're clothing. As for-"

"I can _see_ they're clothing. Why did you get them? How? The marketplace will be closed for hours still."

Kratos patiently ignored the interruption, writing her smarminess off to the irritability of exhaustion and worry. "We can't parade around Tethe'alla in our current clothes. We're both easily identified as a Knight and Servant from the castle, and why would we be traipsing around outside of the castle like this? As for how, they're clothes left over from a consignment sale designed to support students who can't afford the tuition themselves. We got lucky that there's clothing that will fit us." Kratos eyed Martel, giving her a pleasant shiver and aggravating her at the same time. "At least, I hope what I procured for you will fit you. It looks like it should." He waited for another comment, then asked, "May I answer your question as to why the Sybak government feels indebted to me now?"

Humbled, Martel looked at the window. "Of course. I'm sorry."

Kratos hesitated- probably feeling badly about Martel feeling badly, as she'd gotten to know him- and then said, "Tylor was always petitioning the King to cut or eliminate funding to the city, claiming that the money would be better spent by the war or even constructing the bridge. I was the one who invariably ended up talking sense into the King when it seemed Tylor had convinced him. They owe the operation of the University to me, or so they feel."

"I see."

There was silence, although companionable. Then Kratos said, "Let's try to get some sleep. I don't want to overstay their hospitality. The city can get in serious trouble if they're caught harboring known fugitives. I want to be gone by tomorrow morning."

"But where will we go?" Martel asked, her fearfulness finally surfacing.

Kratos hesitated, this time in the form of a thoughtful pause. _I must know him pretty well if I can tell what his pauses mean_, Martel thought in mild amusement. Kratos didn't notice her slight smile and finally responded, "I have a friend who lives in a secluded keep near the Tethe'alla-Sylvarant border. He will help us get to Sylvarant, where we can plead for asylum."

Martel was dubious. "Are they going to give asylum to one of their enemy's highest ranking Knights?"

"I don't see why not," Kratos replied smoothly. "I did, after all, take out their enemy's Prince. That should carry some weight. It helps that it was in self-defense, since the Sylvarant King has a lot of respect for honor."

Kratos' explanation did nothing to cure her skepticism. If anything else, it made it worse. "And how do you know _this_?"

"I've met him," he answered. Finally seeing the doubt on Martel's face, he sighed. "Martel, you said yourself that I'm one of- _was _one of- Tethe'alla's highest ranking knights. Do you really think that King Meltokio and King Cleo didn't _try_ to work things out? This war has been going on forever, and I mean that almost literally." He looked away, out the window. "This wasn't their war. Neither of them even knows why it started; nobody knows. But for some reason, it couldn't be fixed. I was an envoy a few times during those talks."

Again, silence descended, this time ending with Kratos saying, "You can stay up if you wish. _I_ am exhausted and we've got a bit of distance to travel tomorrow. I'll see you in the morning."

As Kratos began stripping off the remaining excesses of his uniform- gloves, boots and socks, belt, a sash that portrayed his rank, and Martel assumed he would be discarding his shirt as well- Martel said, "Wait a second."

"It can wait until morning," Kratos said firmly, tossing a boot aside.

"No, I just want to know- who is your friend? Not someone who was involved in that raid?"

Kratos laughed. "No, absolutely not. Yuan's parents are pacifists and they've rubbed off on him."

"Yuan? That sounds like an elven name."

The man chuckled anew, laying down in his bed and pulling the covers up to his chin. "_Goodnight_, Martel," he said firmly.

Knowing when she had been dismissed, Martel laid back, pulled the covers to her chin, and closed her eyes. Within moments she felt the world drop away, and thought sleepily, _Oh. I must've been more tired than I thought…_

* * *

"Lord Yuan! Travelers!"

Yuan paused mid-exercise, twisting to look at the night guard. "At this time at night?" he asked rhetorically. Of course there were travelers at this time of night. His guards didn't have a particular liking for practical jokes.

The half-elf set his butterfly sword down, coming to stand next to the night guard, who still held the spyglass to his eye. "It kind of looks like Sir Kratos, my Lord," the guard observed.

Yuan's first reaction to this news was to proclaim that the guard must be mistaken, but he managed to bite back those words. Kratos had a very distinct appearance, and yet Yuan couldn't fathom why Kratos would be out here at this time of night. Kratos should have been in Meltokio. "Let me see," Yuan ordered, holding out a hand for the spyglass. He put the spyglass to his eye, and his confusion turned to shock as he focused on the male traveler. "Yes, that's Kratos all right. No one else has that mop of red hair. It'd kill the man to brush it once in a while, I swear," Yuan muttered under his breath, then focused on the man's companion. "A woman, huh? That sly fox," he drawled, then pulled spyglass from his eye. "I'm going down to meet them. Prepare Tranquil, the two of them must be pretty tired by now. I will take Fiery."

"As you command, Lord Yuan."

The guard went to the intercom, transmitting Yuan's orders. By the time Yuan arrived at the stables, the two horses the young Lord had ordered were waiting for him, along with an entourage. "I said _I_ am going down to meet them," Yuan commented irritably. "I said nothing about bodyguards."

"But Lord Yuan," one of the guards protested. "Sir Kratos sent no word that he would be coming, which is highly unusual. It's dark, and with your family history-"

"My eyes are _fine_," Yuan snapped, "and that's Kratos. I don't need an entourage." Yuan didn't bother looking for his guards' reactions, but as none of them made a move to further prepare to accompany him, he guessed he was being obeyed. The young noble mounted his horse, then took Tranquil's reins and kicked Fiery into motion, giving the more docile horse a little tug. Tranquil had no trouble keeping up with Fiery.

As he approached the travelers, he confirmed to himself that it was indeed Kratos as the man raised a hand and waved. Yuan galloped up to the pair and dismounted, moving immediately to embrace the Knight. "Welcome, my friend," he said quietly, "although such surprise visits are highly irregular from you."

Kratos nodded. "As I can tell you suspect, there is a tale to this visit, and it is not a pleasant one. Can we discuss it in the morning?"

"Of course. You and your companion must be exhausted." His gaze shifted to his companion, noting with interest that the other traveler was a half-elf. "May I ask your name, Lady?"

The girl flushed in the moonlight. "I'm not a lady," she replied. "My name is Martel. I'm Kratos' ser-"

"Friend," Kratos cut her off. "She's my friend."

"Friend?" Martel seemed shocked; Yuan was amused. She obviously didn't know him very well.

He held his comment, choosing instead to simply observe the resultant exchange. "Martel," Kratos said, wearily, "you are my friend, you have been for weeks. You were my servant only in name, and being an outlaw, I can hardly call you my servant anymore."

"Outlaw? Whoa, hey, what's this about?" Yuan asked, suddenly alarmed.

"I'd appreciate it if we discussed it in the morning," said Kratos, "as we already agreed. Although, if you need to know now, I would request that we don't stand around out here. Martel isn't used to hard travel and I've pushed her for the last two days. She's about ready to collapse."

"No, I'm not," Martel protested.

"You are," Yuan said, taking a quick assessment of the woman's condition. "Here, I bought Tranquil with me. Do you mind riding with Kratos?"

"Of course not, but I can walk."

Here Kratos interjected. "If Yuan's offering a horse, I'm taking it. I can't force you to ride, but I'd highly recommend it. I am almost to my own limit, and you are _not_ much better off."

Martel sighed heavily. "I guess I'll ride, then."

Kratos mounted first, and then Yuan helped Martel pull herself up in front of Kratos. Yuan then re-mounted Fiery, and the three started back to the keep at an easy pace. They rode in silence for a moment, and then Kratos observed in amusement, "She's sound asleep."

"I figured as much," Yuan replied softly. "Do you want to tell me about what's brought you out here?"

Kratos kept his face down, letting the shadows mask him. "Not particularly," he replied. "You have the right to know, however, and if you chose not to take us in because of it, I understand. We just need enough provisions to get to Triet."

The young lord shook his head. "I wish you were comfortable enough to tell me about it, but it is your choice. Any pushing I would do would be due to curiosity, seeing as you feel the need to flee Tethe'alla completely," said Yuan, his tone one of wonder. "But I won't force you to tell me anything you don't wish to."

"Thank you."

They passed the rest of the ride making small talk, Kratos filling Yuan in on the latest military movements, Yuan commenting about how poor the hunting had been and, "I'm pretty sure that's due to your military movements. You're scaring the game away."

When they arrived back at the keep, Yuan dismounted and Kratos eased Martel off Tranquil's back and into Yuan's arms. The woman barely stirred as the transition happened. Once Kratos was off the horse, Yuan indicated to the guards to rub down the two horses, and then the pair headed into the keep, Yuan still carrying Martel. "My parents will understand not going to see them right now," Yuan commented in a low voice. "It's late, and Martel's already asleep. They would probably want you to rest first."

"Thank you," Kratos responded simply, as they came to the guest quarters. Kratos opened the door for Yuan, and he carried Martel inside.

Yuan laid the woman down on the nearest bed and pulled a blanket over her. "I'll go speak to my father now, though. I'll ask him for your provisions; there shouldn't be a problem. Hopefully they'll be ready by the time you two are rested."

"Again, thank you," Kratos replied, taking a seat on the edge of the bed closest to Martel's. "I'll stay here tonight; I'm sure the room I usually use isn't ready."

"Correct. I'm not sure it'd be ready if we had the usual notice," Yuan said wryly. "You know this place and the packrats who live here. Your room's in sad shape." Yuan turned to leave, and as he did, he said, "Get some sleep, Kratos. You look like you desperately need it."

* * *

Martel woke slowly at first, the light of dawn filtering through the windows of the room and then through her eyelashes. Upon realizing that this chamber was completely strange to her, though, the half-elf sat bolt upright, looking around in a momentary panic. The memory of coming to the keep came back to her, calming her enough to take inventory of the room. She was alone; another bed was mussed, and she assumed that Kratos had slept there. The clothes that he had garnered for himself in Sybak- simple tunic and breeches- were discarded in a corner. Martel discovered that she still wore the simple peasant's dress, as well, but there was a finer garment on the stand beside her bed.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, investigating the garment. It was a set. The tunic was a little longer than a man's, with a belted waist. Below the belt the fabric was cut to form a sort of ragged edge. There was also a pair of simple leggings. The whole ensemble was varying shades of green, white and black.

Feeling bold, Martel made the assumption that this outfit was intended for her- why else would it be left by her bed, to tease her? She made a quick look out the chamber door to make sure no one was nearby. Assured that she was alone, she swiftly changed out of the peasant's dress and into this new outfit. This accomplished, Martel's next dilemma was that she was sound asleep when they'd actually arrived and she didn't know anything about this castle, and she was hungry.

So far, she had slept in and changed into better clothing without a beating for stepping out of line. Deciding to press her luck once more, Martel timidly left the chamber, looking around. The corridor was plain, and ran either way. One direction was as good as another, so Martel gingerly crept along, cringing as she came to each door and junction in hallways.

The half-elf practically jumped out of her skin when one of the doors she passed opened. She managed to stifle a shriek, but it was plain to the woman who had left the room that Martel was startled. "Oh my, I'm so sorry, dear. I didn't mean to frighten you!"

"I-it's okay. I'm just a little jumpy," Martel responded, fighting to calm her pounding heart.

An odd expression crossed the woman's face. "I could understand other half-elves being jumpy, but not one who accompanies Lord Kratos." The woman peered closer at Martel. "You _are_ Lord Kratos' companion, correct?"

"Yes," said Martel, now just slightly uneasy. "I- I can't find Kratos, though, and I wasn't sure if it was all right for me to leave the guest room."

"Of course it's all right! Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, because… Because… well… I'm a half-elf," Martel finally got out, giving up on trying to be diplomatic at implying potential racism on her host's part.

Rather than being insulted, though, the woman burst into laughter. Seeing Martel's puzzlement at this reaction, the woman calmed herself. "Lord Kratos didn't tell you that our own young Master is a half-elf, did he?"

This fact struck Martel like lightning. "No, he didn't," she said quietly. That man last night; his ears were rounded, but that didn't mean anything, she realized. Many half-elves were graced with the features of either parent and none of the other. Kratos had embraced Yuan as if he were a brother. Martel then gasped at that thought. Could it be-?

"I know what you're thinking, Miss, and no, there's no relation," the woman said wryly, but not unkindly. "They are simply very close friends. A human and a half-elf being good friends isn't too common, is it?"

"No, it's not."

"So your shock is to be expected," the woman concluded cheerfully. "Now then, I'm assuming you went looking for Lord Kratos. I imagine he and Master Yuan are sparring in the battlements. They can't spar in the courtyard like normal people; it must be on the walls. Shall I take you to them?"

Martel nodded dumbly, and then followed as the woman walked away. She half-listened, responding politely as the woman rambled. From what Martel was able to gather, this woman was probably a high-ranking servant. The woman led Martel to a stairwell that spiraled up into a tower, and then out onto the keep's wall.

The wall was quite wide, and two people _could_ spar comfortably atop it. It looked as though a match had just ended, though, with Kratos and Yuan both disarmed and teasing each other as they wound down. "One of you two are going to fall off this wall one of these days," the woman said to them in a loud voice.

In response, Yuan thumped the outer wall, which came to his waist. "We'd have to seriously be trying to kill each other for that to happen," he called back. "I doubt that will ever come to pass."

"It might if you don't knock off the magic during our matches," Kratos commented.

Yuan made an inaudible comment back while the woman laughed. Then, to Martel, she said, "Well, here you are. I'm assuming you'll be all right if I go back to my duties?"

"Y-yes. Thank you."

"It's no trouble, dear."

The woman retreated back down the stairs, and Martel walked forward to where the two men were. Now that she saw him in the light, she saw that Yuan had long blue hair, a color that humans were unable to have naturally. It was pulled back in a low ponytail now; if allowed free, it would cover his ears. He would pass as an elf, easily. "I see the outfit I borrowed for you fits," said Yuan. "I'm glad. I didn't get a very good look at you last night."

Martel smoothed her hands over the tunic self-consciously. "It fits perfectly." Then, tentatively, she joked, "You've got a better eye than Kratos, anyway."

The Knight snorted at this, and Yuan chuckled. "No, I think I just have a greater appreciation for beautiful women than he does."

"Yuan," Kratos growled in a half-mocking tone, and then said, "You're both right, though. I've been outfitting men in armor since I joined the army. You are neither a man, nor are you wearing armor."

"I'm going to be merciful today and not rib you more, Kratos," Yuan commented.

"Thanks. That means a lot, buddy."

Martel laughed outright at this, eliciting smiles from both of the men. She managed to calm herself fairly quickly, and then said, "Humans and half-elves being best friends it pretty rare, and I can see that you're very close. May I ask how you met?"

"We met in school," Kratos answered immediately. "They initially chose to school him in private, but his father soon realized that his hair was long enough that if it was done, he would pass as an elf."

"Then I went to school," Yuan continued the story. "However, even passing as an elf, I was the only one in the class. I wasn't bullied, but I was very lonely. Kratos was in a similar situation, because he-"

"Yuan," Kratos cut the other man off quietly. His face was blank, but his tone clearly said not to go wherever he was going with that.

Yuan looked contrite. "I'm sorry," he said to Kratos, and then continued, "Kratos knew what I was going through. Once we both realized that the other wasn't out to make us out to be fools, we became friends very quickly. That almost ended when I told Kratos that I was really a half-elf, of course."

Martel was taken aback by this. "Why? I thought Kratos had always been accepting of half-elves! What happened?"

"I always have," Kratos answered her with a withering glare at Yuan. "My issue was that I had been lied to, and not his race as Yuan so likes to imply."

"Maybe I still don't believe it wasn't my race?" Yuan said with a smirk.

"And maybe you're a smartass who likes to irritate me," Kratos snapped back at him. The Knight ignored Yuan's chortling laugh as he continued, "In any event, I stopped talking to him entirely; I was so hurt that he'd lied to me. I wrote to my father about it, in my regular communication with him, and, well… if one can be spanked with words, Father did it. His response letter made me realize the gravity of Yuan's race and that it was understandable that he had lied about it. Fortunately Yuan forgave me fairly quickly."

"And I needed a verbal spanking from _my_ father about it before that happened," Yuan added.

Martel smiled. "Well, I think it's wonderful that you're friends. There isn't much in the world to have hope about anymore, I'll take anything I get."

Yuan assumed she spoke of the persecution most half-elves were subject to; however, Kratos had seen the helpless and hopeless expressions Martel had when she thought he wasn't looking. He figured that this was a good time to ask her about them, but something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye and the words died on his lips. His mouth suddenly dry, he stood and turned towards the edge of the wall, looking out over the road. "Knights," he said quietly as Martel came to stand beside him.

The woman swallowed hard. "What do we do now, Kratos?"

Yuan moved to stand on Kratos' other side. "An entire troop?" he said in bewilderment. "What did you _do_, Kratos?"

"You're about to find out," the human replied grimly.

The captain of the troop stepped forward. He could clearly see the three standing on the wall, and rather than proceed to the gate of the keep, he raised his voice so that they could hear him. "We have been sent to retrieve Sir Kratos Aurion and bring him back to Meltokio to stand trial for the murder of Prince Tylor Meltokio- alive or dead."

"You murdered the _Prince?_" Yuan gasped.

Ignoring his friend, Kratos called down, "What of my servant, Martel?"

After a brief pause, the captain called back, "We have no orders regarding your servant. Only you, Sir."

"Then I am coming down. I will be unarmed."

"Thank you, Sir."

As Kratos turned to the tower, Yuan jumped in front of him. "Kratos, stop!" he said in desperation. "A dead or alive order gives them carte blanch to murder you!"

"But they won't," Kratos replied. "I know that man. I respect him and I know it is mutual. I won't be harmed."

"Not until you get to Meltokio!" Martel intervened. "Kratos, _please_ listen! Maybe I'm just as prejudiced against humans as they are against me, but I know that you'll be executed. There's no way that a man who killed _anyone_ in defense of a half-elf will get a trial, let alone someone who killed the Prince! You'll die if you go with them!"

"If that is the penalty for my crime," Kratos replied in a careful monotone, "then so be it." As he moved carefully around his friends, he said, "I'm sorry, Yuan, but I must ask you to help Martel. She was separated from her younger brother in the raid that brought her to Meltokio. He was last seen in Triet. Please help her find him."

"No, Kratos, you're still going to help her find him," said Yuan as he followed the Knight down the tower stairs. Both half-elves begged him to have some sense, but he coolly refuted all of their arguments, leaving them standing helpless before the gate of the keep as he proceeded beyond it.

The captain of the troop sent to arrest Kratos looked calmly at Yuan where he stood inside the gate. "I'm assuming that the lord and lady of this keep don't know the charges against you."

His tone was obviously suggesting. Kratos realized what he was doing, but it was unnecessary. "I haven't even seen them yet," he replied calmly.

"And your half-elf friend?"

"My name is Yuan," the blue-haired man said angrily as he stepped forward. Kratos noted with dismay that Yuan was now armed; he brandished an axe and came to stand just in front of Kratos.

"Yuan, please, go back to the keep," Kratos begged him.

Yuan paid him no attention. "If you really have as much respect for this man as he claims you do," he said heatedly, "you wouldn't arrest him without hearing his side of it!"

The captain was obviously angered; Kratos knew he responded purely out of that respect for him. "That is, unfortunately, not how it works, Yuan," he said coldly. "I am sure things aren't as they seem. However, Sir Kratos does not deny that he is Tylor's killer. It is up to the King to decide what circumstances led to the stabbing and if Sir Kratos is responsible."

"So that's it?" Yuan spat, still ignoring Kratos' pleas to go back to the keep. "I used to be angry that I was barred from the knighthood, but now I'm glad! If I'd known that the knights were expected to be mindless pawns for the King, I wouldn't have wasted my time to begin with!"

"We are not mindless pawns," the captain barked back. "Watch your mouth, half-elf; your mother may be a noble but you and that elven bastard of a father-"

The captain didn't finish his threat. Yuan launched himself at the man, who barely managed to draw his blade and deflect the half-elf's attack. The entire troop drew their weapons, and Kratos' cries for everyone to calm down were drowned out in sound of battle.

Kratos managed to grab a weapon that had been dropped when its owner was struck with Yuan's axe; he couldn't see who had fallen, but he had to do his best to help his friend. Somewhere in the melee, he heard Martel cry out. Thinking the woman was being attacked as well, Kratos turned to where the sound came from, angry for the first time in this mess. His anger died to shock when he saw that she was not being assaulted; instead, strong streams of mana were emanating from Martel's body, the power of the magic blowing her tunic and hair wild. At her throat, that bauble that had been deemed worthless shone brighter than the daylight.

Then the magic abruptly flared outward. Kratos put an arm up to his face, expecting to be struck by it, but the mana soared harmlessly past him into the heart of the melee. There it exploded, and Kratos lost his footing and fell. He ignored a stabbing pain in his arm where he hit the ground, writing it off as insignificant immediately. Kratos turned his gaze to where the battle had been, but had been momentarily blinded by Martel's spell, or whatever that was. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision; when he could see again, the ground where the battle had been was scorched. Only Yuan remained, and he was unharmed. He stared in awe behind him, at Martel. Kratos twisted his body to see her as well, and she stared back at them, her face ashen and blank. The light emanating from that gem was slowly dying.

Martel opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. As the gem's light twinkled out, Martel dropped to the ground, unconscious.


	4. Chapter 4

The two men sat by the half-elf woman's bedside, each in their own thoughts. Their course of action was set. Of course, it wasn't like they had much of a choice. If Kratos and Martel were in danger now, they would be killed on sight when Meltokio got news of what Martel had done.

Of course, it would take them some time to make that discovery. Martel's... "magic trick" as Kratos called it, had wiped out the entire troop sent to retrieve him. It would be a few days before King Meltokio realized something was amiss, and at least one more before the next troop arrived.

Yuan and Kratos waited in silence. Everything that needed to be said had already been said, which had primarily been adrenaline-driven argument. The two friends exchanged angry words, Kratos proclaiming that Yuan's actions had been stupid, very stupid, and Yuan returning that Kratos martyring himself wouldn't help Martel at _all_. The argument continued until Yuan's father intervened. "What's done is done," the older elf chided them. "Placing blame and getting angry at each other isn't going to change that."

Short apologies were issued; subdued preparations to leave ensued. "We have to leave as soon as Martel awakens," Yuan told his father. "It will probably be hard on her- she expelled an enormous amount of mana in that blast. But we have no choice. The farther away from the border we are once we get to Sylvarant, the safer all three of us will be."

Kratos busied himself with packing and organizing and planning while Yuan and his father spoke. He wasn't a part of this conversation; ordinarily he would leave, but he didn't want to leave Martel's side. "Won't you tell me what's going on?" Yuan's father asked softly.

"No. I'm sorry, Father. The less you know, the better. You will probably be questioned. They have ways of knowing if you're telling the truth. You and Mother are already in poor graces with his Majesty because of me." The half-elf shook his head. "It's better that you don't know. I'm sorry."

"Very well. You will, at least, say goodbye to your mother before you depart?"

"I had no intentions on leaving without doing so." Yuan smiled sadly. "I will wait until Martel wakes, though. It will give her a few more moments to gather herself."

And that was that. Kratos knew, from experience, that Yuan wouldn't speak with his father again. There was a deep bond between the two, indeed, but it was paradoxically cold. Yuan didn't see it. Whenever Kratos expressed concern for it, the half-elf shrugged him off, saying that elves appeared naturally cold. "He's not," Yuan said. "He just seems that way to humans because elves express their affection differently."

Being human, this of course made little sense to Kratos, but he took Yuan's word for it.

Yuan's father bustled in and out of the room as they waited for Martel to gain consciousness. He had insisted on taking over preparation for their departure, and seemed much more efficient; they almost had the supplies they needed, and had to carry much less than they would have had Kratos continued to prepare himself. It couldn't be due to experience: Kratos was a _knight_ and a high-ranked one at that. He knew how to travel light. It was more likely that Yuan's parents were furnishing them with elven equipment. He refrained from pointing out that this would imply that they knew something was amiss. If the elf didn't already have a story, he would by the time the next unit of knights arrived. Either that, or he'd be able to make something up on the spot.

Martel stirred, murmured something incoherent. Kratos leaned close to her and spoke her name quietly, but firmly. The half-elf maiden's eyes fluttered open, reflecting confusion and fear. "It's all right. We're safe for now," Kratos told her. "We don't know how long we will be safe here. We must get to Sylvarant as quickly as possible. Can you travel?"

Martel sat up with a groan. "I can if I have to," she said thickly, putting a hand to her forehead. "What happened?"

Yuan stood before Kratos could begin his explanation. "You get her up to speed. I'm going to go say goodbye to Mother." He left quietly, his strides quick but not quite hurried.

The pair watched him go before the knight spoke again. "What do you remember?" he asked her.

Martel frowned hard in thought. "I remember... I remember some knights coming to get you," she said slowly, unsure. "I remember Yuan and me coming down with you, trying to talk you out of leaving with them, and a fight broke out. That's all."

Kratos was quiet. He knew that Martel would not take what she had done well. He didn't want to tell her, and yet he felt obligated to. What right did he possibly have to withhold information from her, _any_ information? His internal debate was interrupted by Martel's soft, apprehensive voice. "Kratos? What... what happened?"

He hesitated a moment later, and then spoke haltingly. "That gem, on your choker. I don't know what caused it, but it..." he bit his lip, still looking for a way of telling her what happened without placing any blame on her. "It caused you to release a tremendous amount of mana. It killed them."

"It killed them..._all_ of them?"

As Kratos had predicted, the young woman was aghast. He nodded wordlessly, and she put a hand to her face. "I... killed... all those people..."

"Do you remember?" he asked, unaccusing.

She shook her head violently. "I- no, but I know-"

"How do you know?"

She dropped her hand, staring at it bleakly. "It wouldn't have done anything if I hadn't told it to." There was a moment of silence, and then- "Name of the Great Kharlan Tree, I killed _fifteen people_!" The last was spoken as a pained, horrified sob, and she began crying quietly.

The human was at a loss. He was never good at comforting blatant pain like this, and he wasn't sure how one could make a woman like Martel feel any better about taking over a dozen lives in one strike. "At that point, Martel, I believe they would not have hesitated in killing us," he tried awkwardly. "We would have had to kill them anyway, and there were no survivors. Meltokio will not know something is amiss for at least another day. It has bought us time."

"Time," she repeated. "Time... at the cost of _lives_..."

"It bought us our own as well," Kratos pointed out gently. "Martel..." The soldier was at a loss. For the first time since that fateful trip to Igaguri village, Kratos didn't know how to talk to the half-elf. He decided to take a risk. "Martel, I have killed _hundreds_. I defeated my first enemy in combat at sixteen. I feel remorse for what I had to do, but I do not feel guilty. In that situation, people _had to die_."

She stared at him, unreadable for a few long moments. Then: "I suppose what I did was self-defense."

"Yes. You were defending yourself, and us."

"I guess I have to at least try to forgive myself, then," she said wistfully, sadly.

Kratos grinned slightly. "You do not 'have' to do anything," he told her, "but considering the increased danger we will be in, I highly advise it. Guilt makes it much harder to defend oneself. Remember that."

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed gingerly. "I will try, then," she said, grimacing as she placed her feet on the cold stone floor and stood. At first, she felt as though her legs were going to give out beneath her. Kratos reached out and steadied her, supporting her until she had her balance. Martel thanked him as he pulled away, and asked, "When will we leave?"

"As soon as Yuan has finished speaking with his mother," Kratos answered. "He shouldn't be long. He rarely has much to say to his parents."

* * *

The room was dark. Yuan knew that, having inherited a love of light from his father, it was his own fault he could not appreciate or even understand his mother's need for darkness. She had explained it to him, many times, and he always "understood", and yet never did.

She heard him enter before he announced himself. "Yuan?"

"Yes, Mama."

As he strode forward, he heard her speak again in the darkness. "Your father tells me Kratos has gotten you in trouble again, young man," she said in joking severity.

Yuan snorted as he approached her, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He could see that she had her eyes open; a rarity for her. "Kratos doesn't 'get me in trouble,'" Yuan rebuffed. "He gets himself into trouble and I jump into it myself."

"Absolutely true," the woman replied with a smile, staring at a fixed point somewhere behind the young half-elf. "Let me see you, son."

Yuan knelt before the woman, touching her hands gently with his own. In response, the human woman raised her hands to the half-elf's face, caressing it lovingly as her fingers traced his features. "You're scared," she said softly.

He smiled, for her sake. She felt it, and smiled in return. "I am," he said. "This is the first time I will truly be without yours and Papa's protection."

"You will have our protection, Yuan," his mother chided gently. "No matter where you go, your father and I will be with you. We can't leave our beloved son alone in this horrid world."

"Thank you, Mama."

* * *

The trio left the keep shortly after nightfall. The group traveled through the night, their moods surprisingly light. The endless bickering between the men kept Martel, and themselves, amused, and Martel was going to see her brother again very soon. Kratos had been very kind to her, of course, and she hadn't been miserable under his command. But now she was free once again. He'd said a few times that he no longer regarded her as a servant; he was simply her friend.

And she had a new friend as well. Once she got over her general fear of new people, she found the young half-elf to be quite likable. She quickly discovered that she had to be careful, otherwise Kratos was left completely out of most conversations between her and Yuan. This was the reason she, for the most part, simply allowed Kratos and Yuan their playful arguing.

They stopped just before dawn to rest. All of them were exhausted, but Kratos insisted on continuing after daybreak. "The Triet governor's mansion is just a short distance from the desert's edge," he said. "Rather than sleep in the open and risk being attacked by monsters, it would probably be prudent to just continue on. We'll be over the border and have a roof over our heads. We'll be much safer just dealing with the exhaustion for another hour or so."

"At the _governor's mansion?" _Martel asked, astounded. "Two of us are half-elves and you're a Knight of Tethe'alla, in case you've forgotten."

Kratos suddenly became very reserved, focusing on preparing the three of them something to eat from the supplies Yuan's parents provided them. The young woman looked to her companion half-elf for an answer; he held eye contact with her for only a moment, and then looked away abruptly, focusing on his own task of digging the fire pit.

Martel looked from one man to the other, pondering this odd withholding of information. She eventually just let herself speculate as she gathered sticks and kindling, a task that would take her some time. There wasn't much plant life this close to the desert. Her speculations started out very reasonable and pretty safe assumptions, such as the possibility that Kratos had become friends with the governor while the two kings were trying to negotiate peace. When she concocted some fantastic tale of Kratos intending to show off his tactical prowess by single-handedly taking over the mansion, Martel merely started counting the sticks she was picking up.

By the time their meal was prepared, the mood had relaxed again. Kratos and Yuan recounted humorous stories from their youth for her, the young half-elf woman content to just eat her food and listen. As they finished their meal, the three of them turned to the west as the sun began peeking above the horizon, sharing observations about the beauty of the sunset.

As Kratos stood and began observing that the three of them had best get going before they all get too lazy to move anymore, an explosion rocked the ground beneath them. Kratos and Yuan immediately drew their weapons, reflexively, as Martel cringed and tried very hard not to cry out. "What was that?" she cried.

A pillar of smoke rose in the desert, a distance but pretty close. The blackness of the smoke outlined the shape of a group of buildings. Martel realized in horror what that oasis at the edge of the Triet Desert was. "The governor's mansion," Yuan breathed in consternation. "What in the world-"

Kratos stared, wide-eyed at the wreckage in the distance, his breath catching in his throat. Yuan put a hand on the Knight's shoulder. "Don't jump to conclusions," he said in a low voice. "We don't know what caused that. It might not be as bad as it looks."

Martel wasn't sure the Knight heard him; he seemed singularly focused on that pillar of smoke. After a moment he opened his mouth to speak, tried again, then shrugged Yuan's hand off his shoulder and started towards the mansion at a quick jog. "What's going on?" Martel demanded, suddenly tired of the cryptic attitude the two had about this.

Yuan swallowed hard. "His father is the governor of Triet," he answered her finally, simply. "Come on. We've got to keep up, make sure he doesn't hurt himself looking for survivors."

That piece of information stunned Martel. A Knight of Tethe'alla was the son of a governor of Sylvarant? Curiosity as to how _that_ happened burned in the young half-elf, but now wasn't the time to pry. She followed the two men, a little slower than them but as fast as she could.

By the time Yuan and Martel had caught up, Kratos was already at the smoldering, ruined estate, yelling frantically for anyone who was alive to answer him. Yuan shook his head sadly as Martel came up beside him. "No one's alive in that mess," he said softly. "The blast will have attracted the attention of thieves. We should leave. We have to get to Triet as soon as possible."

Martel started to agree, and ask which one of them should attempt to get Kratos to leave the place, when a small, thin response echoed after one of Kratos' cries. As Kratos stopped and hollered for them to yell again, Yuan said in bewildered concern, "That sounded like a child!"

The call repeated, and Martel shouted, "That's Mithos! _Mithos!_"

Before Yuan could hold the woman back, Martel bolted into the ruins, towards the child's muffled voice. She quickly joined Kratos in his game of needle in the haystack, searching desperately for the origin of Mithos's cries. Yuan hesitated a moment before joining in the search efforts; they didn't know what caused that explosion, and that survivor may have caused it, using magic to mask his or her true voice. Martel's surety that this survivor was her little brother, however, swayed him to join the search rather than try to dissuade them from it.

It seemed that Kratos located the child, and was clearing rubble away from him as quickly as possible. "_Keep talking_," Kratos said in elvish. "_We'll get you out!_"

The boy hesitated. Yuan knew from experience that the man has spoken in elvish to attempt to comfort the child, assuming that he, like Martel, was a half-elf. However, it was clear from the child's hesitation that Kratos's language wasn't comforting at all; Martel, once she got past the shock of hearing a human speak elvish, said in elvish, "_It's all right, Mithos. I'm here._"

Martel took over conversing with Mithos while Yuan and Kratos dug the boy out. It took them only a few minutes together to free Mithos; Kratos held the last boulder up while Yuan and Martel pulled Mithos to safety. Martel examined the boy quickly, searching for significant injuries, and then hugged the boy tightly to her, sobbing softly. Mithos himself seemed relieved beyond belief to be reunited with his sister. Indeed, Yuan heard him murmur, "I though they'd killed you. I'm so glad you're safe!"

"I'm fine," Martel replied soothingly. "This human protected me while I was in Tethe'alla."

Mithos was puzzled by this prospect. "A human protected you?" he said in disbelief, pulling away from his sister. "Why would-" As Mithos's gaze fell on Kratos again, this time looking at him rather than just trying to get out of the pit he was trapped in, his eyes widened in shock. "Lord Aurion!"

Only Kratos was nonplussed by this reaction. "No," he replied. "I am his son." Seeing that he had the child's attention, he asked, "What happened here?"

The child seemed to cower slightly against his sister. "We were trying to make a pact with Efreet," Mithos replied in a small, traumatized voice. "We weren't told that the person making the pact would have to fight him. Lord Aurion requested that he be allowed to do the fighting for me, and attempt to make the pact that way. Efreet tried, but he… he went berserk."

Kratos took a deep breath, bracing himself. "What became of my father?"

Mithos shook his head, clearly afraid of Kratos' reaction. "He… defended me while I ran. He told me to just leave him. I'm… I'm sorry."

The Knight closed his eyes, trying to keep a hold of his emotions. After a moment, he was comfortable enough that he had mastery of his grief enough to answer him. "You did nothing wrong," he said, softening his voice as much as he could; his grief caused his voice to be rougher than usual. "I'm glad you got out alive as he wished. But why would he try to make a pact with a Summon Spirit?" Kratos asked, confused. "My father was no summoner. It's unfathomable that he'd attempt something he knew he could not do."

It was Martel who answered him. "You two know of the Great Kharlan Tree, right?" she asked, suddenly animated.

Both of the men nodded. "It's the source of all Mana on the world," Yuan answered. "If there's anyone on the planet who _doesn't_ know of the Great Tree, I'd pity their educational system. Even Kratos knows what it is."

Kratos glared at his friend as Mithos took up the explanation. "It's dying," he said flatly. "This dumb war is killing it. The more Magitechnology you guys use, the more it drains the Tree."

Yuan and Kratos exchanged looks in silent communication. After a moment, Yuan asked, "How do you know this?"

"We saw it," Martel said with a shudder. "Most of the branches are dead, and the leaves are all dying."

Mithos nodded. "Even the ground around it was dead," he said in awe. "And it looked like the tree was _bleeding_, too."

"Well, that's a problem," Yuan replied, his concerned tone belying his cavalier words. "But what does that have to do with Lord Aurion attempting to form a pact with Efreet for you?"

"Lord Aurion knew someone who has a pact with a very powerful Summon Spirit," Mithos said. "He's second only to Origin. He somehow became aware of this and he asked Lord Aurion and his friend to help him find a way to stop the Tree's decay. The solution they came up with was to have one person form pacts with all of the Spirits, and then use their collective power to fortify the Tree."

"It's not a definitive answer," Martel added. "In order to save the Tree, we have to stop the war. But stopping the war will do no good if the Tree dies anyway."

Mithos turned to face Martel again. "We have to go tell Maxwell what happened," he said quickly. "With Efreet berserk like that, and we lost Lord Aurion, I don't know what we'll do now!"

"Can you take us to meet Maxwell?" Kratos asked abruptly. "I'd like to help, if I can."

"We'll take you to meet him," Martel said softly. Ignoring Mithos' protests, she added, "But I think you should talk to him about this before agreeing to help us. You may not want to."

"Martel!" Mithos exclaimed. "Are you sure that's okay? Maxwell's place is hidden! I think he would have told us if it was okay to bring other people!"

"I'd think he'd have told us if it wasn't," Martel replied curtly. "What about you, Yuan? What are you going to do?"

Yuan shrugged. "I'll go with you, I suppose. I have nowhere else to go."

"All right. Let's go."

"Hold on!" Mithos burst. He looked around at the adults, fuming, then focused on Kratos. "I don't know what you're going on about, but we don't need a _human's_ help. I'm grateful you kept my sister safe and helped save me, but I'm not sure I believe you actually want to help." His eyes narrowed at the man. "I didn't trust Lord Aurion and I don't trust you."

"Mithos!" Martel snapped. She looked up at Kratos. "I'm so sorry about this. I-"

"Don't worry about it," Kratos cut her off softly. Then he looked down at Mithos. "I promised your sister I'd get her to safety. I have no intention of leaving her until that has happened. Your belief or disbelief in that does not matter."

Mithos, clearly unhappy with this, stalked away. "I'm sorry," Martel repeated. "He's just as racist as everyone else. He's usually better at suppressing it, though."

"He has little reason not to be," was Kratos's stiff reply. "Let's go. He shouldn't be alone."

Kratos set off, following Mithos under the assumption that he was going in the correct direction. As the man pulled out of earshot, Yuan said, "Kratos looks exactly like his father."

"Yes, he does," Martel replied, trudging after them.

Yuan walked side by side with her. "Why were you surprised he was Lord Aurion's son, then?"

Martel sighed heavily. "I didn't make the connection," she said wearily. "I was terrified, and I... I just never thought about it after the raid on Triet when I was taken prisoner. I wish I had... We he might have brought me back to Sylvarant sooner, and all those people would still be alive." Martel has turned away from him now, but Yuan's heart broke for the young woman. The lives of those soldiers were tearing at her conscience. "We better catch up to them. I don't want Mithos trying to pick a fight with Kratos," Martel added, picking up her pace. After a moment of thought, Yuan followed as well.


	5. Chapter 5

Maxwell wasn't usually so serious, and this wasn't his preferred physical form. He preferred the appearance of an ancient wizard, because that was truly what he was. However, as slim the possibility as it was, if his magic was sealed somehow in that form, he'd be unable to defend himself. The form of an ancient wizard was also attention-attracting. Both situations were highly undesirable in this world.

So he took the form of a young human ranger. A very serious young human ranger. Maxwell told himself initially that he was merely playing the part. After all, he'd never met a jovial ranger. However, it became harder and harder for him to buy the lie. This latest development made him drop the act entirely. He wasn't serious because of his chosen form.

He was serious because this war was killing them. At first "them" was only "it", it being the Great Kharlan Tree. Now it was the Summon Spirits as well. He knew that something was wrong when he lost touch with Origin; that was what originally tipped him off to the plight of the Great Tree. But it was feeling the distress his kin was in that let him know that it was affecting the Summon Spirits as well.

Maxwell didn't know what could have occurred for Efreet to act so violently. Even if he hadn't been connected to the Summon Spirit of Fire, he would have to be deaf and blind not to see the destruction the creature visited on the Governor's Mansion. Maxwell was neither, and he couldn't see how the young half-elf could have survived. He didn't want to give up on Mithos so quickly, but he had to think about the here and now. And if Mithos was dead, he needed to find and gain the trust of another half-elf capable of carrying out this mission.

Not likely to happen. And it was highly likely that "them" would soon include the humanoid population of the world. He needed to come up with a plan B, but what? His Summoner had barely agreed to this plan; hers was to merely destroy Sylvarant. That would certainly solve the issue of the war draining the Great Tree, but Maxwell wasn't sure he wanted Tethe'alla to have the world all to itself. Ordinarily, he'd go to Styx first, get his input, but Maxwell imagined that Styx was just as dead as Mithos was. So this meant that he had to come up with a plan on his own and then wheedle his Summoner to agree to it, or ask her for assistance.

His musing was interrupted by the young Igaguri boy the Igaguri had sent to assist him. "I'm sorry, Maxwell," Kuro said softly, "but I thought you should know this as soon as possible."

"So speak," Maxwell said quietly, still trying to think of a way of saving the tree without Mithos.

"Mithos is alive."

"He survived?" Maxwell replied as he turned to face Kuro, astounded.

"That's generally what being alive implies," the young Igaguri said smugly. Then, remembering his place, he forced the smugness down and straightened his posture. "He's returning with Martel, my lord," Kuro finished his news, "as well as a human and another half-elf."

Maxwell smiled broadly. "That's wonderful! I thought we were never going to see Martel again. But who are their new companions?"

Kuro was clearly uncomfortable with this question, and fidgeted before he spoke. "I have no idea who the other half-elf is," he said haltingly, "but the human is a knight of Tethe'alla. I saw him a few months ago at Igaguri; he was on a 'diplomacy' mission from the king to try to get us to side with Tethe'alla."

The Summon Spirit frowned hard. "Why would a knight of Tethe'alla be with them?" Maxwell mused.

"I believe he is related to Lord Aurion," Kuro offered. "He's a dead ringer for him."

"Interesting. Do you know his name?"

"I believe it was Kratos, my lord."

"The plot thickens," Maxwell chuckled to himself. Seeing Kuro's confused expression, the Summon Spirit clarified, "Kratos is Lord Aurion's son. Go to meet them; if they need help, help them. If you can't help them off the bat, come back and ensure that there are arrangements in place to make sure any of their needs are attended to as soon as they arrive."

As Kuro left to meet the group, Maxwell felt _hopeful_ for the first time since this whole crisis began. Of course, he would have to convince these two strangers to assist his half-elves further, but if he did, things would get a lot easier for his young hero-to-be.

* * *

The group was exhausted, hungry, and irritable. There was little Kuro could do for being exhausted and hungry, and all but Kratos were probably irritable due to those two things. Kuro had no idea that Lord Aurion even had a son, so he also had no idea what Kratos' relationship with his father was. However, despite not being on speaking terms with his own parents when they passed, Kuro himself still mourned when he was given the news of their deaths. The young Igaguri thus assumed that Lord Aurion's death was in fact making Kratos more irritable than usual.

There was nothing at all that could be done for that. So Kuro merely said a prayer to the Great Tree for Kratos' well being and tried to put his sympathy out of his head. Kuro imagined that the knight was accustomed to grief, and the situation was dire. There was no time to ruminate on Kratos' loss, and the knight probably knew that, too.

As they arrived at Maxwell's hidden base, Kuro told them, "Whether you want to eat or rest first is up to you."

"I think we better go talk to Maxwell first," Mithos said ruefully. "He needs to know-"

"He already knows," Kuro cut him off with a wave of his hand, "and wants you to rest and eat first. You've had a trying day, Mithos, and I imagine the three of you have as well," Kuro added, his gaze sweeping over the ragged group.

"We have," Martel said with a slight smile, a firm hand- a warning hand- on her little brother's shoulder. Mithos seethed, knowing that Martel was doing her best to keep him quiet as she said, "We're grateful for the chance to rest and eat. Thank you."

Kuro nodded. "So, which is it, food or beds?"

"Maxwell," Mithos snarled softly. Martel, in turn, squeezed Mithos' shoulder slightly, and he lapsed back into sulky silence.

"I don't think I can eat or sleep," Kratos said softly.

Yuan and Martel looked at each other. "What do you think?" Yuan asked after a moment's hesitation.

Martel flushed slightly and waved her free hand. "I could go either way, really," she said, sounding a little flustered. "It's up to you. I'm equally tired and hungry."

The blue-haired half-elf grimaced and scrutinized Martel for several moments before saying, finally, "I think we should rest first. We're all exhausted- yes, Kratos, you're exhausted," Yuan snapped as Kratos started to object to Yuan's generalization. "I can tell you are and I _do_ think you'll be able to sleep." Through the one-sided argument, the half-elf kept Martel in his sights, and made sure to keep his relief carefully hidden as he saw the young woman sigh in relief.

"I'll see to it that you have a hot meal when you awake," Kuro said kindly, resuming his walk down the hall. "The quarters you'll be using are right here."

The room he had stopped by was a spacious one, multiple cots set up in lines against two of the walls. "Hey, my cot's all made up!" Mithos exclaimed in delight, forgetting his sour mood as he dove into the room. Martel chuckled in affection as she followed instantly, and Yuan followed her, his curiosity and exhaustion getting the best of him.

Kratos, however, hesitated. Kuro waited a second to see if Kratos would tell him what he needed on his own, then asked, "Is something wrong, sir?"

The auburn-haired man hesitated again, and then asked, "How much contact do you have with the Igaguri?"

Kuro eyed him suspiciously; what an odd question… "I make regular contact with them," he said warily. "Why?"

It seemed that Kratos's own war with himself came to an end. "You need to tell them to move," the knight said softly. "The King of Tethe'alla intended to destroy you if you didn't agree to help us. The Prince's death may incense him enough that he'll drop diplomacy and attack you outright."

The young Igaguri bristled at this. "Let him try," he snapped back. "We will not run from any army!"

"That's stupid," Kratos snapped back. "Do you realize how much bigger they are than you?"

"We're better fighters," Kuro sneered.

Kratos ignored the insult. "You might be better fighters," he returned, "but when you're fighting fifteen to one or more, it'll do you very, _very_ little good!"

Despite his pride, Kuro blanched at that. After a moment, he said, "You're right. We'd be decimated." He thought hard about it, and then said, "I'll notify our chief of this situation. Thank you for alerting us."

Kratos nodded in acknowledgment, and Kuro stiffly walked away. The knight sighed heavily as he realized Martel had crept up curiously behind him. "I really am a traitor to Tethe'alla now," he said quietly, numbly.

"You're not a traitor to a country," Martel replied sadly. "You're simply not a traitor to humanity."

Kratos smiled at her wistfully. "That's a less upsetting way of looking at it, yes."

The half-elf woman returned his sad smile, and put a hand on his arm. "Come on, Kratos. You're more tired than you're letting on. Come get some rest."

"C'mon, Kratos!" Yuan shouted from within the room. "Mithos and I are taking all the good pillows! We're gonna take yours if you don't get in here!"

"You leave my pillows alone!" Kratos hollered back, finally entering the room. Martel hid her grin behind her hand and followed quietly, closing the door behind them.

* * *

Maxwell went over in his head, over and over again, what he'd say to the young man when he got to his office. Well… perhaps Kratos wasn't a 'young man' anymore, being almost thirty years old. But to Maxwell, Kratos was certainly still a young man.

He left off the debate about whether or not Kratos was a young man and resumed fretting over what to say to him. He did want to see the Knight alone, before he spoke to the rest of the group. Styx Aurion had died following Maxwell's orders. Maxwell bore responsibility for the man's death; he needed to offer _something_ to Kratos.

But _what?_ After all of his experience, Maxwell realized he'd never had to do _this_ before. "I'm sorry I got your old man killed. By the way, can you go and do the same exact thing in hopes that it _doesn't_ kill you?" The Summon Spirit laughed out loud at this thought; no, that definitely wasn't it…

A knock on the door alerted him to the fact that he'd run out of time. Resigning himself to just going with the flow, he called, "Enter!" In a moment, the door opened and Kuro stepped into the room, followed closely by the young Knight in question. "Excellent. Thank you, Kuro," Maxwell said with a smile. "Could you leave us alone, please?"

Kuro didn't answer except to bow slightly and exit the room, closing the door behind him. Maxwell regarded the knight uncomfortably, realizing that the flow wasn't going. Kratos returned his gaze unwavering, unemotional, and waited. "You're very much like your father," Maxwell said finally, hoping Kratos hadn't hated the man.

"Thank you," Kratos replied quietly.

His thanks seemed genuine, so Maxwell continued, "I'm sincerely sorry for your loss," he said. "For all of our loss, really. Lord Aurion was a great man."

"Yes, he was."

Maxwell hit that awkwardness again, and fidgeted. _Don't screw this up, Maxwell…_ he told himself, and then said, "Your father spoke very highly of you. You were his world, Kratos."

The knight cracked a slight, mournful smile at this, and said, "I'm sorry if this seems short, but I need to know why he died. What's going on that Father would attempt the impossible knowing damn well it _was_?"

Maxwell's slight smile diminished. "They told you _nothing_?"

Kratos shook his head. "They said that the Great Kharlan Tree was dying," he said, "and that the situation was dire. It was confusing, however, so Martel suggested that we speak to you."

"I see." Maxwell frowned, thinking about how to best explain this to someone with little magical knowledge. Finally, he summoned a small ball of light to his palm. "This is, as you probably know, magic," Maxwell said. Kratos crept closer as the Spirit continued, "You probably also know that magic needs a source, something to feed off of. That something is called mana. You with me so far?"

Kratos nodded. "I know all this already."

"Good. Now, here's something you may not know: mana is _everything_. It is the basic building block of life. You cannot have life without mana." Maxwell gauged his companion's reaction; judging from the way the man's reddish-brown eyes widened slightly, this was new to him. The Spirit chuckled to himself and added, "Your life comes from mana as well. You are not able to manipulate it as elves, half-elves and magical beings are, but it's still there.

"Now, since mana is the source of all life, what do you think will happen if mana disappears?" Maxwell asked. As he spoke, he slowly choked the amount of mana he was feeding into the sphere of light.

Kratos watched the ball of light dim steadily. "Whatever's running out of mana will die," he responded. "But I didn't think it worked that way. Doesn't mana replenish itself?"

"It does," said Maxwell, "but if it diminishes entirely, the end result is still the same. Now, what do you think will happen if the _source_ of mana runs out entirely?"

"Martel said that was what was happening," Kratos replied, "but it seems a bit unbelievable. The Great Kharlan Tree has an almost infinite amount of mana."

"That's where you're wrong," said Maxwell gravely, "and it's that misinformation that's causing this. The Great Kharlan Tree has its own supply of mana as with all living beings. Its supply is massive, as it is the source of all mana on this world. This war is depleting its mana faster than it can replenish it. At first this was a very gradual process, but since you developed magitechnology, it's happening much faster than ever before." As the Spirit said this last, he cut the magic to his ball of light off entirely.

Kratos shifted on his feet, his face reflecting his concern. At that moment, there was another knock on the door. "That's probably your friends come looking for you," Maxwell said kindly. He called for whomever it was to come in, and sure enough the three half-elves filed into the room.

The knight noticed immediately that Yuan was quite pale. "Are you all right?" he asked, momentarily forgetting his concern for the Great Tree.

Yuan nodded slightly, his gaze on the Summon Spirit. "You're Maxwell?"

"Yes, I am."

"Is what they told me true? Is it really that bad?"

"It's really that bad."

There was a momentary silence, and then Yuan asked, "What about their Exspheres? I've never seen any like them, and they didn't know how they were different from regular Exspheres, either."

"Ah, yes," said Maxwell. "To be perfectly honest, all I know is that they're artificially enhanced Exspheres. I'm surprised you don't know about them, Kratos," he said. "They're being used extensively in Tethe'alla."

Kratos raised his eyebrows at this. "Are they?" he said, clearly surprised. "I suppose that explains why the treasury was always so tight. Exspheres are expensive enough. I imagine that these special ones are even more so."

"You could say that," Maxwell said haltingly. Before any of them had a chance to react to his hesitation, he said, "I'm sorry to ask this of you, after this has already put you through so much." He looked from Martel, to Yuan and to Kratos, and then said, "This still needs to be dealt with. Will you help?"

"You know I will," Martel said immediately, without hesitation.

"I can't _not_ help," said Kratos. If he had more to say on the subject, he didn't.

When Yuan realized Kratos was done speaking with that simple statement, he added, "I can't very well let my best friend, a woman and a kid venture into danger alone, now can I?" He said it with a slight, nervous smile, his gaze on Martel out of the corner of his eye. Whether she saw it or not, he noticed that her lips turned up slightly, looking very pleased.

"Excellent," Maxwell remarked, beaming. "Yuan, I notice that you don't have an Exsphere at all. Would you like a Cruxis Crystal- the type of Exspheres Martel and Mithos have?"

Yuan shrugged. "I've never used one before, but if you think it'll be beneficial-"

"I do." Maxwell turned to a shelf and pulled down a box. He took a small, stone-like object from it and replaced the box, and then handed the object to Yuan.

As the half-elf placed the object on his hand, Kratos objected. "Exspheres shouldn't be placed directly on the skin," he said.

"It's all right," Maxwell replied. "Consider it one of the upgrades from a regular Exsphere. Placing it on the skin, rather than a Key Crest, shouldn't do anything at all. In fact, I've been instructed that they actually lose power if a Key Crest is used."

"Fascinating," Yuan replied, obviously thrilled with the idea of having an Exsphere.

Maxwell grinned at the half-elf's enthusiasm, and then said, "Your first goal should be to subdue Efreet. I don't know if he's in such a state that he'll leave the temple and attack Triet. This _cannot_ happen."

"We'll take care of it," Mithos said firmly. "This is my fault. I was the one who wanted a pact without being able to do it."

"Blame is somewhat irrelevant at this point," Maxwell replied. "Just focus on subduing him, if you can. Good luck."


	6. Chapter 6

Kratos was pale, tight-lipped, and silent as the four made their way into the ruins of the governor's mansion. Martel watched the man in concern and asked her brother, in a subdued voice, "Is there a chance to recover Lord Aurion's body?"

Mithos shook his head shortly. "I don't think so. Everything started burning when Efreet went nuts." The boy closed his eyes in an attempt to fight back the memory, but only saw it all the clearer in his mind. He snapped his blue eyes back open, determined not to close them again as he struggled to calm the shaking the memory caused.

The ruins were foreign to Martel and Yuan, and even Mithos had a little trouble navigating it. Kratos, however, guided them through as if he had lived there his whole life. Grim determination drove the Knight on, even when it was obvious to his companions that being in this place was intensely painful for him.

They finally came to the place where the shrine to Efreet was located, deep underneath the mansion itself. It was marked by a magitechnology "gateway", a circle of blue light that would instantly transport anyone who stepped fully within its bounds to the altar itself. "We're here," Yuan said, for lack of anything better to say. "Before we do anything else, we should discuss what our plan is. Martel obviously needs to stay b- Kratos? _Kratos!_"

Yuan didn't manage to get out, "Come back here!" because Kratos had already dashed up the stairs, sword drawn, and dove into the portal. Yuan cursed in Elven and ran up after him, leaving the siblings to exchange bewildered looks. A moment later, Martel shook her head and took the stairs, followed closely by Mithos.

Much to the young half-elf's surprise, the room was absolutely quiet and still. Kratos was looking around, eyes narrowed, searching. The other three held their breath, fearing to make too much noise. For Martel and Yuan, the fear was the unknown; Mithos, however, knew already Efreet's power and did not want to face it a second time.

Just as Kratos was about to call out for Efreet to show himself, a scorching heat swept into the room, accompanied by a roar that shook the place. The Knight barely had time to shift to a defensive stance as the Summon Spirit flew at him, his body flaming in his senseless rage.

As Martel managed to throw off a protection spell to him, almost by instinct, Yuan leapt forward, slashing at the creature with his butterfly sword. Efreet reared back, and was further driven back by a simple ice spell cast by Mithos.

The half-elf boy gasped as he cast the spell, crying, "This is the same as before! We can't subdue this thing!"

"Like hell we can't!" Kratos yelled back. "There were two of you before and four now!"

"I'm _useless!_" Mithos wailed.

"You're not!" the Knight yelled back, parrying a swipe from Efreet just in time. "Have a little faith in yourself!"

Kratos's last words were drowned by a scream of pain from Yuan, who came a little too close to Efreet's flaming claws. The berserk Summon Spirit dug its fire talons into the half-elf mage's side, mercilessly ripping at the man's flesh. The knight cursed loudly, leaping to his friend's defense. After a few strikes, Efreet roared again and turned his aggression on Kratos, leaving Yuan to drop to the floor.

Martel rushed forward, healing magic in her hands. Mithos yelled for her to get back, but she didn't heed her young brother. The young woman knelt beside Yuan, attempting to both focus on healing him and staying alert enough to see if Efreet was attacking her. She noted that her former master did his best to keep Efreet's attention, but the Summon Spirit eventually noted that two of his opponents were incapacitated, and whipped away from the Knight in a flurry of flame.

The Knight followed him, but he wouldn't be fast enough. Mithos, acting on instinct alone, bolted forward. He was able to shield Martel and Yuan, but the Summon Spirit, without his sense, tearing into to child ferociously.

Martel lost her concentration and shrieked in horror and consternation, her hands going to her face in a gesture of terror. Kratos himself gritted his teeth, muttered, "That's not what I meant," to himself, and launched his attack anew. Distracted once again, Efreet turned on Kratos. The Knight couldn't see the extent of Mithos's wounds from where he was, but if it was as bad as Yuan, Martel would have quite a bit on her hands. As Yuan was fully-grown and Mithos a child, the damage to Mithos was probably much worse.

He wanted to shout above Efreet's raging, try to find out how bad the situation was for their two companions, but he couldn't afford to waste the breath. The room had grown so hot it seemed to suck the air out of Kratos's chest. He prayed silently, desperately to the Great Tree that Martel could heal _one_ of them, at least, _quickly_. Efreet's moves were easy to predict, making time Kratos's true enemy. He couldn't keep up this pace much longer.

Mithos screamed from behind Efreet; the Summon Spirit howled as the room abruptly cooled and ice encased the fiery being. It lasted only a few moments, but it was enough for Kratos to launch his attack anew. The Knight struck hard at the stunned Spirit, his blade driving true this time. Efreet gave another great howl and fell to the floor as the blade came free of the Spirit, his fire diminished.

Kratos held at ready, as did Mithos. He chanced a glance over the wounded Spirit at the other three; Yuan was conscious and on his knees, and Martel was supporting Mithos, who looked prepared to attack once again if he had to. As Kratos's eyes flicked back to Efreet, the Spirit looked up at him in confusion. "Lord Aurion?"

"He's dead," Kratos replied flatly.

"I… see." The Summon Spirit raised himself up again, his flame brightening slightly as he looked over the group. "I sense a very similar aura to his in you, warrior."

"I am his son."

"Indeed." Efreet sounded mildly amused, and he turned his attention to the rest of the group. "I cannot begin to describe the shame I feel for what I've done," he said somberly, "but I am intensely grateful you survived, Summoner. The fact that I so easily lost control of my own power indicates that things are indeed as grave as Maxwell has told you."

"Do you think his plan will work?" Mithos asked, his demeanor serious and business-like. Kratos winced inwardly; he knew that feeling, of being a child in age but having responsibility that most adults in age would balk at…

"It may. I believe it is our best option at this time." Kratos could hear the sorrow and pain in Efreet's voice; the professed shame was genuine, but the Spirit also sounded sick, depleted. "Are you prepared to make your vow, Mithos?"

The half-elf boy stepped forward, just as weary as Efreet seemed to be. "I vow to strengthen the Great Kharlan Tree in order to prevent its death."

"Agreed." Without another word, Efreet's form faded into pure energy and flowed towards Mithos, surrounding him, caressing him. Efreet's light focused briefly at Mithos's chest, and then dissipated in a shower of magical sparks.

The boy turned to face the other three travelers, something clenched in his hand. "Kratos," he said softly, and closed the distance between the two of them. He held out the clenched hand, saying, "Efreet had this. He wanted me to give it to you."

Kratos reached out and took the object from Mithos, examining it carefully. "It's a Cruxis Crystal," he said, his voice questioning.

"I think it was Lord Aurion's," Mithos replied meekly. "If it was, then it makes sense for Efreet to want you to have it."

The knight nodded, and removed his Exsphere and Key Crest both, and replaced it with the Crystal. Mithos's hypothesis was instantly confirmed, as Kratos felt his father's presence, almost as if the man had his arms around his son right that instant. The sensation lasted only seconds, but it was enough to Kratos to know that the Crystal was his father's.

After a moment more of awkward silence, Yuan cleared his throat. "We better go see Maxwell," he said. "We're not making pacts with other Summon Spirits by standing around and gawking at each other."

"I agree," Martel said quietly, being the first to head to the exit of the now-empty temple. The four moved out slowly, all of them solemn. All of them felt the pain of Lord Aurion's loss in some way, and Efreet handing over the man's Cruxis Crystal had made his death seem all the more real, more final.

Kratos was the last in line, as he walked a little slower. He wanted to remain here, with his father, as long as he could; he had no intention of ever returning to this place once he left it. He didn't hesitate at the entrance. However, as he stepped out of the ruins of the Governor's mansion, a feeling of vertigo overcame him that was so intense that he desperately thrust a hand out to the nearest wall to steady himself.

Mithos, being the closest to him, was the first to be aware of the knight's motion. "Kratos! Are you all right?"

Mithos's cry alerted Yuan and Martel to the knight's plight, and turned quickly. Kratos waved them off irritably as they surrounded him. "I'm fine," he snapped, and then cringed as his companions all appeared hurt. "I'm fine," he repeated, gentler this time, "the heat's just getting to me. Crowding me will make it worse."

"If the heat's bothering him, we should probably get back to Maxwell as quickly as possible," Martel said in concern.

As the group all voiced their agreement, Kratos didn't say anything. He was too embarrassed to. He'd dealt with hotter temperatures before, and never had a problem. Why was he now?

Maxwell seemed immensely pleased with their success. "I can already feel the outflow of mana slowing," he told them excitedly. "Just by forming the pacts, you're helping. None of the Spirits residing on this side of the border have pacts, except Efreet now. Start with them."

The Spirit had, as soon as he felt Efreet become subdued, started planning their route through Sylvarant. A map outlined the stops they were to take; after a stop in Triet for supplies, they were to head across the Ossa Trail and then north to Luin. The Summon Spirit of Light was near there. Once they had that Spirit's pact, they could head south to Asgard and form the pact with the Summon Spirit of Wind, and then west across the ferry to Palmacosta to form a pact with the Spirit of Water. That being done, they would continue west back across the Ossa Trail and return to Maxwell's base, where he would give them his next instructions.

As they were preparing to leave the base, Martel pulled Kratos back next to her. Although he ordinarily moved faster than she did, and Yuan was already watching their rear, he let her pull him to walk in step with her. "Are you going to mention almost fainting to Maxwell?" she asked him quietly.

He shook his head slightly. "No. I'm fine now. It really was probably just the heat getting to me."

Martel frowned, but didn't say anything else.

The Ossa Trail, while still uncomfortably warm, was a little more reasonable in terms of temperature than the Triet Desert had been. The half-elves were in high spirits, a sharp contrast to Kratos's own dark mood. As they reached the peak of the trail, the temperature dropped further, refreshing them all with the cool breeze from the ocean they were now approaching.

As Martel breathed in the cool wind, a musical sound filled the air, grabbing her attention quickly. With an excited "Oh!", she looked around for the source of the noise. All three of the boys noticed her excitement, but Mithos was the only one to question her about it. "What's up, sis?"

"A linkite tree!" she exclaimed, still looking around. Then, having decided that the tree wasn't in their immediate vicinity, she bolted ahead on the path, giggling. As Mithos took off after her, Yuan and Kratos exchanged bewildered looks and followed as well.

As the three rounded the bend, they were treated to the site of a beautiful tree, with oddly-shaped nuts hanging down from its boughs, and a determined Martel leaping up, over and over again, attempting to capture one of them. Yuan approached her, asking, "Do you need some help?"

"I just need… to get…" Martel continued to jump, swiping in vain at a large nut that was just out of her reach.

Yuan, the next time Martel's feet touched the ground, put his hand on his shoulder to stop her, and pushed her gently away. He took her place, looking up at the nut she wanted, gauged the distance between him and the prize, and jumped. His hand closed over it and it snapped from the bough it was on as he came back down. He grinned broadly as he handed the woman the object.

She smiled in appreciation, taking the nut from him. Martel held the nut to her ear and shook it slightly, then giggled in delight. "Thank you," she said, "this one is _perfect_."

"Perfect for what?" Kratos asked.

Martel's prize obtained, the four began walking again. "To make a Linkite flute!" she exclaimed brightly. "Have you ever heard one?"

As both Kratos and Yuan shook their heads, Mithos piped up. "They're absolutely gorgeous-sounding," he gushed. "But Martel, you don't have a carving knife!"

Again, Yuan stepped forward, producing a small dagger he had strapped to his wrist. "Will this do?" he asked the woman.

"It should, until I can get a real knife," said Martel, "but I can't take one of your weapons!"

Yuan waved her concern off. "I still have my butterfly blade," he said. "I only have that in case I'm somehow disarmed, and the last person to disarm me was Kratos. Years ago."

"Well, if you say so…"

"Can we pick up the pace a little?" Kratos snapped. "We're supposed to be in Luin by dark! And, in case you haven't noticed, it's already mid-day!"

He strode briskly past his slower-moving companions, his whole demeanor irritable and surly. The three half-elves didn't need to communicate concern about this; all but Mithos knew that this attitude was far out-of-character for the man, and Mithos could figure this much out based on the other half-elves' concern.

At dusk, Kratos finally stopped and allowed his companions to catch up. "We're not going to make it," he said shortly. "I don't think we want to travel at night; we'll be safer in the woods, staying still. Let's find someplace suitable to make camp and settle down for the night."

They traveled into the woods, alert for the presence of monsters. The group found a clearing that provided both sufficient shelter and sufficient cover, as well being oriented in such a way that they'd be alerted to any intruders. Mithos set about creating a fire pit and Martel began preparing dinner automatically, leaving Yuan and Kratos to seek firewood.

It wouldn't be a difficult task; they were, after all, in the middle of a forest. Mithos, after the two men had wandered away and the siblings had worked in silence for a few moments, finally screwed up the courage to ask, "What's Kratos's deal, anyway?"

Martel looked up briefly from her preparations and answered, "I don't know. His surliness is extremely uncharacteristic. I imagine that it's probably because of-"

Her words were cut off as the sound of Yuan and Kratos yelling resounded in the darkening woods. Both half-elves reacted immediately, reaching the clearing the two were in just as Kratos abruptly stopped yelling. What exactly had been said was unknown, but the Knight's expression was stricken and Yuan's, horrified and ashamed. "Kratos, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Yes, you did," he cut Yuan off, his subdued voice speaking louder than it had when he was yelling. "You wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it."

"Kratos-"

The knight shook his head, turned, and started half-running away from them. Yuan repeated his plea, but Kratos didn't heed him. "Should someone go after him?" Mithos asked in concern.

Martel was the one to answer. "No. He'll come back when he's calmed down." After this, she turned to Yuan and asked, bewildered, "What did you say to him?"

The half-elf man considered the questions, began to answer, and then shook his head. "Something I absolutely shouldn't have," he responded finally. "It he does come back, it will be for you two. I'm afraid that remark would be enough for him to completely disown me."

Martel took this in, and replied, "Well, we'll see what happens. Right now, we should finish making camp. I really think he's going to calm down and come back."

The three half-elves returned to the camp-site. They built the fire, finished preparing four portions of their meal, and ate in silence. All of them exhausted, they set a watch, with Mithos getting the most rest, being a child, and settled down to sleep.

The young Summoner was the first to rise in the morning, sensing the sun's ascent from the dark horizon. Martel still slept, and Yuan still kept stoic watch from when he'd taken over for Martel. Kratos's meal was left untouched, and his spot on the camp ground undisturbed. The knight hadn't returned.

Logic told Mithos to be angry with the Knight. He had, after all, just revealed himself to be every bit as racist as all the other humans were. Logic didn't seem to have a say in what he felt, though, as a deep concern squeezed at his heart. Martel was right and he knew it. He _should have come back_.

As Martel woke as well, she and Yuan discussed in quiet tones what to do, both of them steeped in worry. "It would be best for us to just continue to Luin," he heard Yuan insist at one point.

"What if he's-"

"Martel, this forest is _huge_," Yuan cut her off. "We have _no_ chance of finding him if he's wandering around somewhere. Our best bet would be to get to Luin and try to convince the townspeople to help us find him, if our paths don't cross."

Mithos watched the pair, silent. It was clear that Martel didn't agree with Yuan, and Mithos didn't really, either. But he was right; they had _no_ way of knowing where the Knight was. The trio broke camp in silence, the young Summoner brooding as he tried to figure out why he was concerned about a human who had abandoned them.


	7. Chapter 7

Yuan's words echoed in Kratos' mind, painfully. He fully deserved Yuan's rebuke, but it had indeed taken him by surprise. He wasn't sure which distressed him more: his own behavior or the fact that Yuan attacked him with _that_.

Kratos went over the argument in his head once again, trying to figure out where and why he lost his temper. He was annoyed almost beyond endurance with the way Yuan was behaving like a lovesick puppy with Martel and told him so. "Jealous?" Yuan countered, _playfully_.

"Absolutely not. We just don't have the time or freedom to entertain a courtship right now. Wait until we've formed the pacts, at _least_."

"Wh- I'm _not_ courting her, Kratos!" Defensive, and justifiably. Kratos' words had been spat out in disgust. "What's wrong with being friendly?"

"You're being more than friendly!" Kratos snapped back.

"What's gotten into you, Kratos? Knock it off!"

"I'd ask you what's gotten into _you_," Kratos snarled, "except I know already! This isn't the manor out in the middle of nowhere, being pampered and spoiled by your parents and getting anything you want!"

"Pampered and spoiled by my parents? At least I was _wanted_ by them!"

_That's right, Kratos,_ the knight thought bitterly. _You're not wanted, and don't you forget it again_.

The knight seriously considered returning, and apologizing. That would probably be for the best; he said he'd help Mithos and he needed to, unless they disowned him. It was better to do it and get it over with than to put it off. That decided, Kratos stood and tried to orient himself again. It was dark by now, and although he didn't have any trouble seeing, he was no longer sure what direction he had come from.

It took the knight only a few moments to find a clearing in the trees and use the stars to get his bearings. Once he was pointed in the right direction, he imagined the trek would be swift. However, when the bushes moved unexpectedly, Kratos drew his sword, automatically, staring into the bush intensely. "You gave yourself away," Kratos called, his voice not betraying any of the inner turmoil he felt. "Show yourself!"

The response was a whimper, inhuman and pained. The bushes moved again, and this time a paw stuck out of the bushes and tried to pull a body forward, but failed. A wounded animal?

Still cautious, Kratos crept forward and moved the branches of the bushes out of the way. The creature whimpered and recoiled as Kratos looked on it, eyes wide. It was rather small, a puppy, with light blue fur and large, floppy ears that no dog would have. It took Kratos a moment, but he finally identified the creature as a Protozone. They were magical creatures, fiercely loyal… and being killed off in the war, because both sides were using them in battles.

Kratos also saw why the pup was whimpering. Its left front leg was bent at an odd angle, swollen and bloody. The knight sheathed his sword and knelt to examine the creature; it growled softly at him and snapped its jaws at his hands as he reached for the leg. Knowing it was intelligent, and understood at least some human language, Kratos scolded, "Stop that. I want to help you."

It seemed to understand him, and stopped growling. Kratos very gingerly touched the injured leg, testing the bone. The Protozone yelped and the knight withdrew his hands, looking at it grimly, trying to piece together in his head what could have injured the creature so badly. That looked almost like a wound a hunter's trap would inflict. The thing had probably gotten caught, but managed to get itself out. It dragged itself away and into the bushes, so that the hunter, when he or she returned, wouldn't be able to find it.

In any event, Kratos wouldn't be able to move it in the condition it was in. "I have to splint your leg," Kratos told the thing quietly, "and then I would like to take you to Mesanton, to see if there's a doctor who can treat animals. Splinting your leg will hurt," Kratos warned. "Will you let me do it?"

The creature's response was to nuzzle its nose under Kratos' hand and nudge him. Taking that as an affirmative, Kratos gathered a few sticks that were straight enough to work, and pulled up a vine to bind them to the creature's leg. He cut the vine with his sword, and as he worked, he talked to the thing, trying to keep it distracted from the pain. He talked, at first, about his argument with Yuan.

By the time the Protozone's leg was splinted, Kratos had worked out a few things in himself. Yuan's insult had been a defensive response, obviously; driven to outright cruelty by the strain they were all already under. That was probably why Kratos was so surly himself. That _had_ to be it.

The creature's leg was straightened and bound, and Kratos lifted it in his arms easily. There was no way it would be able to walk all the way to Mesanton. As he walked, he realized a serious problem. "I don't know what to call you," Kratos mused. "Do you have a name?" Of course, the creature didn't respond to him, just _whuffed_ softly and nuzzled the knight's arm. "It's said that the first beings on this world were Protozones," Kratos continued musing to himself. "What was the ancient Elven word for that? _Noishe_, I think…"

The creature barked, a young, impish sound that seemed to Kratos to sound like a noise of pleasure. "You want to be called that? Noishe?" Again, the creature barked, sounding happy, and Kratos smiled. "Nip my arm if I'm wrong and you don't like that name."

The creature repeated its happy bark. Kratos laughed, his dreary mood forgotten momentarily. "Noishe it is," he told the thing.

The "conversation" now turned to Tethe'alla, and the circumstances that led the knight to be in Sylvarant. Somehow, having a captive audience to vent everything that happened, and so fast, made the knight feel better, and he suspected that telling Noishe about himself made the creature trust him more. They arrived in Mesanton just after morning; Kratos checked a room and got some information. He rested with Noishe until the innkeeper told him that the doctor would be accepting patients.

Fortunately, the doctor agreed to heal Noishe without hesitation. "This thing should be a national treasure," the Elven doctor told him when Kratos tried to pay. "There are only a handful of Protozones left. Keep your money; my reward is knowing that I'm helping to keep them alive a little longer."

The doctor's healing was complete; the little Protozone pup didn't need a splint any longer. By then it was midday, and Kratos mused about not being hungry or particularly sleepy; instead, he walked through the streets of Mesanton, admiring it. The city was built on a lake, buildings standing on little islands in the middle of it and connected by beautifully crafted bridges. While Triet was his hometown here, Kratos had no desire to return to it; and he had no intention on returning to Tethe'alla, whether he was eventually cleared of the Prince's murder or not.

Perhaps, he thought with a little smile as he leaned against a bridge handrail and two small, laughing children ran past him and Noishe, he'd settle here when this was all over.

The children disappeared on the other end of the bridge and burst into a building; a friend's house, perhaps. Kratos turned his attention back to the serene horizon and his eyes widened as his gaze fixed on something in the distance, and traveling towards them _fast_. "What the hell-?"

* * *

The mood was dark and worried as the half-elves walked. The path to Mesanton was clear, and they moved quickly; nothing was there to obstruct them. A few monsters crossed their paths, but most skittered away, frightened themselves. Yuan and Martel shared a fanciful hypothesis that Kratos had been through and had successfully defended himself against their brothers and sisters, and that was what made them so fearful.

Mithos didn't see the humor in this, at all, and nearly walked into Yuan's arm as they came to a clearing and he thrust it out, halting their progress. "Wait. Something's been here." The blue-haired half-elf ventured into the clearing, moving carefully. "Something more than a monster." He pointed at the base of a tree. "A human sat there a number of hours ago. It looks like the impression is just the right size to be Kratos."

Yuan visualized the scene, trying to place the human knight there and trace his movements. The way the dirt and leaves were disturbed seemed to say that Kratos rose, and started walking back the way they had just come, but something stopped him. What was it?

Martel and Mithos exchanged looks as Yuan traced Kratos' footsteps in the clearing. "I didn't realize you knew tracking," Martel said finally, softly.

"Of course I know tracking," Yuan replied, mildly amused. "I live in the middle of nowhere. Deliveries from Meltokio are quite often delayed. If the household didn't know tracking, we'd have starved to death long ago."

"You need _hunting_ for that," Mithos clipped.

"Not going to catch anything if you can't track it," Yuan retorted, kneeling beside a cluster of bushes and a discoloration on the ground. He scooped some of the discolored dirt up with two of his fingers and examined it. He paled, and then sniffed at it delicately. "Blood."

Martel suppressed a cry of dismay as Yuan stood, wiping his hands on his tunic. "I don't think the blood is Kratos'," he said after a second. His gaze swept over the clearing once more, and he said, finally, "It's not. Kratos came here and stopped to cool himself off. Once he was calm again, he decided to return to us, but there was a wounded animal here; four-legged, probably. The wound was in one of the creature's legs or paws." Yuan pointed at a vine, and continued, "Kratos used some sticks and that vine- you can see, it's been cut with a blade- and splinted the wound. He probably felt that it was more urgent to get the animal to a doctor than to return to us, and went ahead to Mesanton with the animal."

"Genius!" Mithos beamed. "How'd you do that?"

"Years of practice," Yuan answered off-handedly, "and I might not be right. Come on; if Kratos is already in Mesanton, he's probably starting to get worried about us. Let's go."

The air of despair lifted, and the half-elves traveled faster than they had before. Mithos' spirits soared; the human _hadn't_ abandoned them. He just helped a being that needed his help more than they did at that moment. Why he cared so much that Kratos hadn't left them behind was a mystery to the young man, but it was one for Mithos to work out later. Now? Now was a time to find the knight and apologize for his horrible behavior towards him.

As they drew nearer to Mesanton, though, their moods drifted down once more; something wasn't right. The closer they got, the clearer their view of the lake city was and the more certain they were that there was something dreadfully wrong. It was finally Yuan who saw it for sure: "The buildings are all ruined…"

Mithos wanted to dash right into the destroyed city; Martel held him back. After a quick discussion, they moved forward slower, with Yuan in front, his butterfly blade held at ready. Martel followed behind her little brother, her staff in her hands and prepared to cast any spells she had to.

Mithos himself did not draw a weapon, and his older companions didn't ask him to. He preferred to fight with magic. It was less likely he'd hit one of his companions, in this set up, and besides, he was embarrassed by the toy. He wanted a sword.

Indeed, the city was a ghost town; it appeared as though a hurricane had ripped through it. Yuan was the one who spotted the injured swordsman, and dashed to him with a cry. With Yuan out of the way, Martel and Mithos could both see what distressed the man so; they joined him, both of them just as fearful for Kratos as Yuan was.

Yuan and Martel fell to their knees beside the battered and torn Knight, and Martel immediately began checking for the worst of his wounds. Their ministrations stirred him from the pained reverie he was in; "Y-Yuan?"

"Don't talk, Kratos," Yuan replied tensely, searching the debris around them for a fairly straight stick. The Knight's arm was broken and needed to be splinted.

Kratos didn't listen. "Th-that wasn't an ordinary storm," he coughed. "Someone attacked this city. Mithos, c-can you communicate with Efreet?"

Kratos' speech was broken by his coughing and gasps of pain. "Will you shut up?" Yuan snapped at him angrily, although his anger wasn't directed at the Knight. Knowing it probably sounded that way, Yuan bowed his head and started working on splinting Kratos' arm. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"For what?" Somehow Kratos managed a smile. Despite the dire circumstances, Martel smiled herself. She had been right after all.

Mithos interrupted them. "Efreet thinks something's gone wrong with Sylph," he told them. "Their summoner tried to do something he couldn't, or tried to do something they didn't have the mana for, or whatever, but they're out of control."

"_Sylph_ did this?" Yuan said in horror.

Kratos tried to speak, coughed, and then rasped, "I'm no summoner, but I don't think that was Sylph."

The conversation was interrupted by a shrill scream. "Damn it!" Kratos cried, and before any of his companions could stop him, he was on his feet and dashing towards the sound of the scream. The others followed, voicing their protests at his actions, in time to see Kratos cut down a monster that was menacing a child. As the thing died and its body fell to the ground and vanished, Kratos yelled again, this time in pain as one of the wounds in his abdomen tore further. "That was _stupid_," Yuan snapped as he knelt next to his friend once again, examining the makeshift bandage; it was already starting to bleed through again. "Martel!"

"I know," the half-elf woman said softly, kneeling beside Yuan. Once again she laid her hands on Kratos's stomach, a healing spell on her lips.

"Is he… is the boy all right?" Kratos whispered.

"I think so," Mithos replied, staring hard at the raggedy child Kratos rescued. "You're a half-elf," he said to the child in wonder.

The boy's reaction to this revelation was to run. "Wait!" Mithos cried, but the child paid him no heed. Mithos turned to the trio on the ground, stunned. "Did you know he was a half-elf?" Mithos asked.

"It doesn't matter," Kratos wheezed.

"Should we go after him?" Martel asked, concerned.

Yuan shook his head. "He wouldn't come with us anyway. I think he's too afraid of persecution. He looked like he's had to take care of himself for a while, anyway. Things might actually be easier for him without all the people around to harass him."

"We should head for Asgard then," Kratos said, struggling back to his feet. "Sylph's summoner lives there. If Mithos is right and Sylph is out of control, he might need help."

Kratos' plan made sense, but all three of them wondered how Kratos was going to be able to make the journey from the ruined Mesanton to Asgard. Granted, it was only about a half a day's trek, but he was already in bad shape. Yuan and Martel kept their hands on him as he found his balance, and then wondered who Kratos was referring to when he called out, "Noishe! Noishe, where are you? Come back, I got help!"

A loud bark echoed in the empty, devastated streets of Mesanton. All three of Kratos' companions started as a Protozone pup bounded around a corner and down the street, straight for Kratos. The puppy looked like it was about to crash into Kratos' legs, but stopped short, looking up at him and wagging its tail frantically. It yipped a few times, the sound almost having a human quality to it. "We're going to Asgard," Kratos told it. "Do you want to come with?"

Noishe barked and nipped at Kratos' pant leg. "I'll be okay to walk," Kratos said. "We can rest if I need to. Right?" The knight turned to his companions for confirmation, who just nodded numbly. "See? We'll be okay. So are you coming with?"

The Protozone pup yelped, and started towards the southern city exit. "I guess he's coming with," Kratos said with a slight smile. "Let's go."


	8. Chapter 8

Along the way, the group picked up a young human couple. They had been visiting Asgard when the storm hit Mesanton. The woman cried when Martel gently told her that the city was gone. Yuan and Kratos jointly offered to escort them back to Asgard; they were heading that way, anyway. The young couple agreed and thanked them profusely.

Mithos kept his hands jammed in his pockets, sulking heavily as they walked. "This is stupid," he muttered to Noishe, who trotted along beside him. "They're humans." Much to the young half-elf's surprise, the Protozone whuffed softly, as if replying, _Yes, they are_.

He considered this for a moment. Mithos had always been taught that Protozones were incredibly intelligent- perhaps even moreso than elves- but the young man had never quite believed that. How could an animal that walked on all fours possibly be more intelligent than even humans? It was a cynicism that he knew others shared, and so he was comfortable with it. His conviction that Noishe's reply was simply responding to the sound of Mithos' voice, he continued talking in low tones. "I mean, the only human here is Kratos."

Again, Noishe gave that somehow-intelligent _whuff_. Mithos almost stopped walking. _It's just in my head_, he told himself, and again continued. "Are they stupid, traveling with a bunch of half-elves, or do they think Kratos owns us or something?"

This time, Noishe's response sounded very much like a negative. Mithos looked down at the creature in surprise as the Protozone puppy nudged one of Mithos' legs gently, enough to get his message across but not trip the boy. Mithos looked in the direction Noishe pushed him; Kratos and the young couple were talking quietly amongst themselves. Mithos could barely make out their conversation: "… and Mithos managed to get a good look at the boy before he fled," Kratos told them softly. "He said the boy was a half-elf."

Rather than the reaction of disgust Mithos expected, the couple responded with sympathy. "I think I know that child," the man said. "He's an orphan; his father disappeared before Mariana knew she was pregnant, and Mariana herself died of an illness not so long ago. That poor boy doesn't stand a chance if he's all alone."

"He looked like he had been all alone for quite a while," Mithos interjected accusingly.

Kratos carefully controlled any reaction he had. The couple, however, both looked surprise. "We were trying to gain his trust," the woman said, distraught. "Mariana was our friend. We didn't want her son to suffer alone; but the damage had already been done. She was the only human he trusted."

"Every now and then he'd respond to us," the man continued. "Accept food, or we'd invite him into our house so he could wash, but he never did so if we were present. But he was more readily accepting our help."

The two of them exchanged looks, and the woman said, firmly, "We have to go back."

"Claudette, that's _crazy_," her husband retorted. "We're almost to Asgard! And the city is destroyed-"

"You said it yourself," Claudette sassed at him. "Maron is _alone_. Between the racism and monsters, he'll end up dead before too long! We _have to_ go back!"

"It's dangerous," the husband said stubbornly.

Mithos listened to the exchange in confusion. "Can we go back with them?" he asked Kratos meekly.

Both Yuan and Martel, who were silent through the discussion, were listening intently. Kratos knew Yuan enough to know that, like him, he wanted to, but they could not. Finding and subduing both the Sylph and whatever that monster had been was of the utmost importance. It was more than likely Martel wanted to, as well, but… "No," said Kratos quietly. "We have to find that monster. Going back to save one life could cost dozens or hundreds more."

"You're going after that thing?" the husband said, eyes wide. "Sir, you were there when it attacked! You said it almost killed you and your wounds still aren't healed. Is that the smartest thing to do?"

Kratos replied with a slight smile, "No, probably not. However, it is the _right_ thing to do."

At this, the young man stopped. "Jack?" Claudette prompted, her voice worried.

Jack regarded her grimly, and finally said, "Well, if these people are willing to risk their lives to help others, I guess I'd look bad if I wasn't." Claudette squealed in delight and threw her arms around her husband, planting a kiss on his cheek. Mithos suppressed a noise of disgust and looked away, while Kratos caught Yuan and Martel glancing at each other and then placing their gazes firmly on the road ahead, both of their faces brightening. "I guess this is goodbye, then," Jack said once his wife had control of her excitement. "I'm sorry if we slowed you down."

"You did not," Kratos replied. "After all, I am still injured, as you observed. Good luck."

As the group parted ways with the young couple, Mithos looked down at Noishe, slowing his pace once more. "So did they want to go back because they care about that kid, or did they want to because they feel obligated?" he demanded softly.

Despite the "conversation" with the creature earlier, it distressed and surprised Mithos a little to see Noishe move his head in a way that seemed that he was shaking it in annoyance, growled lightly, and trotted ahead to walk with Kratos.

* * *

It was a strange, ragtag group. The guards stood wearily, not looking forward to this; the storms had just about filled the living space in the castle already. As the group came closer, one of the guards nudged the other. "Half elves," he said, only a hint of his derision in his voice.

They were professionals. His partner agreed with his poor attitude about the situation, but they were both glad that there was no room anyway. They weren't _supposed_ to discriminate. It was fortunate they didn't have to make something up to keep the vermin out.

It was the human who lead them, the only human in their group. A protozone puppy trotted at the man's heels, something that caused both guards some confusion. He didn't look like a warrior, and his half-elves didn't look like prisoners. If he wasn't with the Sylvarant army, where'd he get the pup?

The human strode forward as the three half-elves hung back. The woman and child watched in mild horror; the half-elf man's expression was carefully blank. One guard was struck with a sudden recognition. "Lord Aurion?" he blurted. His partner wouldn't be old enough to recognize the man, but he did.

"Lord Aurion has died," the man replied flatly. "I am Kratos Aurion. My companions and I request an audience with the King."

"O-Of course, my Lord," the guard who recognized him stuttered. As the half-elf woman and child exchanged bewildered glances, and the half-elf man's expression still remained carefully blank, the guard said, "Please, follow me. My partner will ensure your half-elves are unmolested while they wait."

"They are not 'my half-elves'," Kratos replied evenly, "and they will come with me."

"But my Lord, we need to announce you- with everything going on, the King is quite busy. It may be a while before we can even _locate_ him!"

"Then they will wait with me," the Knight replied with a raised eyebrow.

Now the other guard spoke, brazenly: "We cannot allow any more civilians into the castle without His Grace's approval."

"Then I will wait with _them_," said Kratos firmly.

Both guards blanched, exchanging their own bewildered looks. Finally, the older guard said, grudgingly, "You may all follow me."

* * *

"Well met, nephew. Come closer, let me look at you."

Kratos stepped forward, although not close enough for the King to embrace him. The man's defiance didn't get past the King; he let it go. Kratos had plenty of reasons not to trust him, even if most of those reasons were lies they had been unable to counter. Instead, the King stepped down the rest of the way to him. The man put his hands on Kratos' shoulders, looking him up and down. "You are a handsome man, Kratos," the King said warmly. "This is a problem. I can't mourn my brother when I feel he's standing right here."

"I'm not my father," Kratos protested quietly, simply.

"Of course not," the King conceded. "Forgive me. My grief has made me sentimental." Still smiling, he turned away and strode back up the steps to his throne. "First matters first, Kratos. This will make no difference in Sylvarant protecting you and your… friends." The Knight heard the slight disgust his uncle tried to mask. It was a valiant effort, though, so Kratos said nothing. As the King sat, he finished, "It will only make a difference as to _how_ we protect you. Word of your crimes came before you, nephew."

"I imagine they did," Kratos replied softly, keeping himself carefully aloof.

"Your side of it, Sir Aurion, if you please."

Kratos, having no choice but to trust him, related the story. Parts of it were glossed over; all the King needed to know about how he came to "own" Martel was that he'd witnessed her being rather brutally abused. The Tethe'Allan prince's demand that Kratos turn the half-elf over to him to be a sex slave invoked a look of anger, but it was mild and the man didn't interrupt him.

He did relate, in detail, how the Prince's death came to be. Kratos paused, looking for an indication that his uncle would stop him, but he did not. The King would wait for Kratos to say he was finished. The swordsman ignored a pang of guilt for his little test of the man's respect for him, and then continued.

This surprised the King, and Kratos could tell it did, but he kept speaking. Kratos told him everything; his flight to Yuan's keep with Martel, Martel's sudden show of power that rendered her unconscious, and the decision to flee to Sylvarant.

When Kratos related their discovery of Mithos and the presence of a secret base in Triet, held by a Summon Spirit he had never heard of, the King stood abruptly and walked to a window. "I know him," the King said haltingly. "I know the rest, Kratos."

"What? But how-"

"I am the Sylph's summoner, remember?" This was said with a slightly amused tone. The King continued staring out of the window. "Can that _child_ really do this?" he mused.

"You're in on this, too?"

"I was in communication with my brother about it," the King replied, turning back to Kratos. "Styx told me they'd found a summoner that they believed could form the pacts and restore the Great Kharlan Tree. He gave me no details other than that. He said he wanted to wait and see if the summoner could form a pact with Efreet first. That was the last I heard from him."

"It was a letter?" Kratos asked. The King nodded slightly; "May I read it, your highness?"

"Stop that," the King chided lightly. "And of course you can. You may keep it, if you wish. I have plenty to remind me of him."

"Thank you."

The King ascended his throne once more. "I'll have one of the servants deliver it to you later," he said. "As for young Mithos, I would be more than happy to turn control of the Sylph over to him. However, as you probably know from what happened to Mesanton-"

"We're going to have to fight them, aren't we?" Kratos said sullenly.

"In all likelihood, yes." The King's voice was soft and rueful. "I'm sad to say that both my brother and I made very similar mistakes. It's no small miracle that I'm still alive and Asgard is mostly in-tact. When I got word that Styx's mansion was destroyed and Efreet out of control, I assumed that his summoner had met the same fate he had. Sylph being out of control is the result of me trying to harness more of their power so I could restore the Kharlan tree myself."

Kratos didn't respond to this. "What about the wind demon? That-" the swordsman faltered as a bloody, hazy image of the attack came unbidden. He forced it back, and continued, "That wasn't Sylph. There's no way-"

"No, it wasn't," the King answered. "It is an ancient demon. When the Elves first came to this world, they created the Summon Spirits to assist in fueling the sapling Kharlan Tree they had planted to make the world suitable to live in. That demon was their first attempt at creating the Sylph, and it was a failure. The Sylph's first task, when they were born, was to seal that demon."

"And so, attempting to strengthen your bond to them-"

"Caused them to go out of control, and lose control of that seal."

Kratos shifted his weight, thinking about this. Cleo took a deep breath, and added, "Another side-effect is that I am no longer their summoner. In trying to gain more of their power, I broke my vow. Your half-elf friend only has to subdue the Sylph to gain their power. If it's all right with your group, I will guide you out to their Seal tomorrow."

The knight ignored the bitter hint in the older man's voice. "I see no problem with that plan," he replied. "If we're on the same page, now, I would like to return to my friends. It is late, and they're probably waiting for me to return."

"One more issue, nephew." Cleo shifted uncomfortably on his throne, staring hard at the disgraced knight. "I'm not sure you were ever notified of this; a few years ago, your aunt Teresa passed on of an illness."

The memory of the message, brought to him by the King of Tethe'Alla personally, caused him to flinch. His sovereign had refused to even let him acknowledge the message, let alone attend the funeral. "I know," Kratos acknowledged softly.

"Then you also know that I am without children. With the death of your father, you and I are the only living members of the Balacruf family."

Kratos saw where his uncle was going with this, and his reaction was automatic: "No."

"I need an heir, Kratos."

"I know."

Cleo sighed. "At least consider it."

Kratos didn't want to reply. "May I return to my friends now, Your Grace?"

"I told you to-" Cleo cut off his expression of irritation, and took care to soften his tone. "Yes, Kratos. Sleep well, all of you."


	9. Chapter 9

The half-elves of the group walked in silence; the only discussion was between Kratos and the King, and even that was halting and troubled. They spoke quietly, but Mithos could hear bits of their conversation; he didn't like what he heard.

Mithos slowed until he was in-step with Yuan and Martel. "What are they talking about?" he asked blankly, softly. "It sounds like the king thinks Kratos is a prince!"

"Technically, he is," Yuan replied softly. When Mithos started to protest, Yuan cut him off, firmly but quietly, "Not now, Mithos, please. Let him deal with the king before making him defend himself to you."

Strangely, Mithos was hurt. "He _lied_ to us, and you're making it sound like _I'm_ wrong!"

"Did he?" Yuan replied with a raised eyebrow.

Yuan was surprised when Martel spoke up. "Lies of omission are still lies," she said softly, flatly.

So they would respect his wishes and leave Kratos alone about it, for now. Instead, _Yuan_ would be the one defending. Patiently, knowing that his experience with humans had been much more merciful than theirs, he retorted, "And who are _your_ parents?"

"What does that matter?" Martel demanded, raising her voice slightly. Then, as quickly as she snapped at Yuan, her indignation left her as she realized that was exactly Yuan's point. "Oh."

That dispute settled, or at least rendered irrelevant for now, the half-elves lapsed back into silence. Uncomfortably, Cleo questioned Yuan about his mother's health; Yuan replied, with equal discomfort, that she was well. All three noted that the King did not ask about Yuan's elven father.

By the time they had arrived at the Balacruf Mausoleum, the structure built around the Sylph's seal, it was nearly dark. This, they discovered, was a problem. "I'll open the tomb for you," the King said quietly. "The seal itself is on the roof; you have to move with caution. There are traps all over the mausoleum. Do you remember any of the layout, Kratos?"

"Vaguely," the human replied flatly.

"Then I shall accompany you, to assist in locating and disabling them."

"Is this a good idea, your Grace?" Kratos said, his inquiry stopping Cleo as he turned to the pedestal in front of the tomb's entrance. "It's very close to nightfall. I imagine by the time we got to the seal, it would be dark, too dark to comfortably fight."

Cleo was not pleased, but did his best to mask it. "That demon is liable to attack Asgard again at any moment," he countered. "Surely it would be best if we took care of this immediately? Once Mithos has the pact with the Sylph, we can go back to Asgard and you can all rest for as long as you need."

"And we'll need to rest, your Highness," Yuan cut in, "if you're asking us to fight a Summon Spirit in the dark!"

"There are eternal torches-"

"We're fighting _three_ beings, uncle, not one!" Kratos snapped.

"I'm not spending the night outdoors," Cleo countered sourly, admitting why he wanted to do this so quickly.

The disgraced knight glared at the King for several seconds, and then smirked. "I have an idea," Kratos said. "Obviously Yuan and I want to wait for morning. Martel's too polite to get involved in this dispute-" at this, he bowed slightly to Martel, "although I suspect that she agrees with me and Yuan."

Martel interpreted his statement as a question, and answered softly, "I do. If one of you gets hurt, I won't be able to see enough to heal you properly."

Kratos nodded to her, and returned his attention to Cleo. "You're outnumbered, your highness, by far."

"That can't be your 'idea', Kratos," Cleo observed dryly.

"It is not," he conceded, "although I wish you wouldn't make me do this."

Now Cleo was intrigued. "Oh? What is 'this', Kratos?"

The knight sighed heavily. "Mithos," he said quietly, "you are the one who will be making the pact with the Sylph. Provided we survive the initial confrontation-" This last was accentuated with a pointed glare at Cleo- "your ability to forge the pact will determine whether we live or die. Therefore, the only one of us who has the right to decide whether we do this tonight or in the morning is you. What do you want to do?"

"Me?" Mithos squeaked, looking around in dismay. "Kratos, I can't-"

"Yes, you can," Kratos cut him off calmly. "What do you want to do, Mithos?"

Cleo was too busy staring at Kratos in disbelief to protest before Mithos said, meekly, "I'd really rather wait until the morning... I'm tired, really. I don't know if I would be able to focus enough to do it now."

"Then we do it in the morning," Kratos said firmly.

As far as the companions were concerned, the issue was settled, and the group began discussing the most equitable way of dividing up camp duties. In one last, desperate attempt, Cleo blurted out, "I _really_ do not wish to be away from Asgard over night! My people need me-"

"Then open the Mausoleum and go back," Mithos cut him off, astonished at his own boldness.

All three of his protectors, as well as Cleo, seemed fairly astonished by Mithos' sudden confidence, as well. Cleo's response was to snap his mouth shut angrily, scowl at the half-elf child, and stalk to the edge of the wooded clearing the Mausoleum was built in. The king settled himself at the foot of a tree, and sulked.

Kratos and Yuan were unperturbed by the King's childish reaction, but it unnerved both Mithos and Martel. Division of duties was left to the two men; they had the most experience with camping out of the five of them. It wasn't long before Mithos realized that the King was being left out of the division of chores. "Kratos?" he asked softly, timidly. "What about the King?"

The knight's brown eyes flicked to his brooding uncle, and then back. "Leave him be," he said finally. "We're walking on thin ice by telling a King we won't do what he wants. Trying to force him to perform menial tasks would not end well."

"So he gets to just sit there and do nothing while we do all the work?" The prospect of this made Mithos bristle.

"Yes," Kratos conceded, completely honest. Then, with a wicked grin, he added, "Although I was planning on having each of us cook our own provisions tonight. I don't know if you noticed, but His Majesty is... traveling lightly."

And Mithos understood. _They_ had all the food. If Cleo wanted any, he was at their mercy. "Fine. I don't like that we have to do all the work, but you're right- he _is_ the King." With that, Mithos wandered away to collect kindling for the fire, as he had been instructed to do. The knowing, understanding smirk he flashed Kratos was enough to tell the knight he had no further argument.

It also told him that Cleo wasn't getting any of Mithos' rations.

* * *

The night passed uneventfully. Cleo eventually stopped pouting and helped Martel tend the fire; he held the night watch for most of the night. Yuan was the one who was expected to stand watch through the middle of the night, and that stretch of time was almost complete when he woke and realized that Cleo had neglected to wake him for his shift. "Go back to sleep," Cleo ordered him, his tone firm but gentle. "I can guide you through the Mausoleum, but I cannot fight; I've had no training. Kratos was right; you all need to be rested to do this."

"Mithos was the one who brought up being tired, your majesty," Yuan remarked quietly, accusingly.

Cleo had no answer. "Go back to sleep," he repeated flatly. Yuan didn't argue further.

A few hours before sunrise, Kratos woke. Cleo attempted to tell Kratos to go back to sleep, as well, but the Knight refused. "I've actually been awake for hours," he told the King, "and you've been awake almost a full day now. You should get some sleep, at least. You _do_ need rest, uncle, especially if you are to help us deal with the traps in the mausoleum."

The King narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Kratos. "You don't look like you've slept at all, Kratos."

"I have," the knight returned, immediately. Too fast.

His uncle let it go, although he was concerned. "It isn't long until sunrise," Cleo conceded, "and I am tired. As long as you're sure you've had enough rest."

"I'm sure," was Kratos' firm reply. Cleo didn't respond; he merely lay down, and closed his eyes.

Somehow, Kratos knew the moment Cleo was asleep. He drew his sword, went a few feet away from the little campsite, and started attacking the shadows. He exercised to try to purge the dark thoughts simmering in his head, but quickly discovered that this was too routine, too normal, and he didn't have to focus on it at all. Lunge, backstep, slash, thurst, backstep, parry, lunge, backstep, slash, thrust, backstep, parry...

All the while, his mind was still on the fact that he could _not_ sleep. He wasn't tired. He wasn't even fatigued. He just couldn't sleep, and his uncle's observation was correct. All he could do was pray that he was alert enough to fight.

The sun filtering through the canopy ceiling woke his companions without any intervention of his own. They all set about collecting their belongings wordlessly, and it was Mithos who inquired, when they were all awake and had eaten, "Are we ready?"

"I am," Kratos replied. The other two half-elves nodded, and Cleo said, "I am, as well. Shall we go?"

The group walked in silence, again, oppressive and uncomfortable. Cleo opened the tomb without event; they moved through the mausoleum, the stale air adding to the oppressive feeling they all shared. Cleo disarmed the traps as the group encountered them. At one point, Mithos observed dryly, "This is surprisingly boring."

"Hush," Martel said softly. "Don't jinx us."

They came quickly to a sealed doorway; Cleo effortlessly removed the trap from the door, and it burst open, knocking the King back. Martel screamed as a large monster, like a huge, bipedal boar, emerged from the room with a shrieking roar. Kratos' sword was in his hand in a second, and he lunged at the demon as Yuan threw a lightening spell at the creature.

The initial shock of the sudden attack wore off Martel and Mithos, and Mithos joined the battle with a spell of his own. Martel went to the fallen Cleo, checking to make sure he hadn't been seriously harmed. The fall twisted his ankle, and she shouted to her companions that she needed to help him get away from the battle. She did not get a response, and didn't expect one. Instead, she pulled one of Cleo's arms around her shoulders and stood, straining under the man's additional weight. He balanced himself as well as he could to help her assist him, but he couldn't bear weight on that leg; when they had stood together, he tried and nearly caused them both to collapse again.

Martel and Cleo limped away from the fight, as quickly as she could carry him. They turned a corner; Martel assumed that this would shield the king enough from the battle and eased him down against the wall. The half-elf cast a light healing spell over his leg, to dull the pain a bit; "I'm sorry," said Martel quietly, once it was done. "I'll be back as soon as we've killed that thing!"

As she moved to stand, Cleo grabbed her sleeve. "Wait!" he exclaimed, through clenched teeth. "I've been nothing but rude to you half-elves. Why-?"

"Because I don't want to hurt you, or see you hurt," Martel responded. "I'm sorry, I have to go help them!"

Martel pulled away from Cleo before he could stop her again, and dashed back in the direction of the battle. She ran headlong into Yuan, and the two almost toppled to the floor together; Yuan put his hands on Martel's shoulders to stabilize them both, and their eyes met for a second that took Martel's breath away as surely as if she had fallen.

But it was only a moment, and a very brief one. Yuan abruptly broke their eye contact, looking at the floor. "The battle's over," he said.

Indeed, Martel now realized that there was no clamor. Kratos and Mithos glanced around the corner, both apprehensive and clearly worried. "Was anyone hurt?" Martel asked.

"No," Mithos answered, breathless from the fight. Then, to Cleo, he asked, "Are there any other monsters like that down here?"

"I don't know," Cleo answered, completely honest and bewildered. "_That_ should not have been down here. I swear, I had no idea it was and don't know why."

The group exchanged glances. "Well, that means we can't just leave him here," Mithos said grimly. "If there's another one of those demons and it finds him, he'll be helpless."

"I'll be fine," Cleo contradicted. "The more I think about it, the more I know that thing shouldn't have been here. If you can heal me enough that I can walk, Martel, I'll go back to our campsite."

"There are monsters there, too," Kratos observed dryly.

"We weren't attacked a single time last night, Kratos," Cleo snipped. "There's _nothing_ out there." When none of the companions seemed convinced, the King gasped in aggravation. "I'll be fine!" he repeated in irritation. "It's much more important that you forge the pact with Sylph right now than it is to worry about me."

Much to everyone's surprise, it was Mithos who replied. "Your Majesty, all due respect," he said, his voice low, "but if something happens to _you_, I'm not sure saving Asgard from that demon would help much. You don't have an heir."

The young half-elf's last statement was pointed, accusing. Mithos noticed that Kratos' gaze fixed on him, carefully blank and unreadable. He made a note to tell Kratos that doing that made it painfully easy to see that he was distressed; right now, though, Cleo was answering, "Even so, I have a close relative, as you know. He'd have the authority to make executive decisions just by virtue of blood. He doesn't have to be my heir."

Now Kratos was uncomfortable, and Cleo was staring at _him_. He heard his uncle's message, loud and clear: _You might as well do it, since you can't get away from it._ "Can you heal his ankle enough for him to get out without exhausting yourself?" he asked, feeling surreal.

"Yes," Martel answered quickly, and knelt next to the King once more.

As her healing energy soothed the pain in his ankle, Cleo said softly, "Thank you, Martel, for both the assistance and your earlier sentiment. It shall give me something to think about while I'm waiting for you."

"You're welcome," Martel replied with a slight smile, helping the man stand. "Be careful."

"And you as well, all of you. Good luck."

As they watched him walk away, Yuan said flatly, "I hope there aren't any more traps that need to be disarmed."

"Too late now," Mithos miffed. "Let's go."

* * *

All the summon spirit knew was that she and her sisters had been forcibly separated from their summoner. He was a powerful man, and a kind one. He was, however, involved in some shady business; his pact was not part of that, but it still made the three of them wary of forging the pact. To ease their minds, his oath would be that he would only ever seek enough power to defend his kingdom and his citizens. A worthy oath, especially considering what the man had his hands in.

None of them realized that he was breaking his oath when he sought to fortify his power. Neither the Spirit nor the Summoner could control the pact once it was made; their magical link did, controlled by the Kharlan Tree. If the Kharlan Tree truly interpreted Cleo's actions as seeking more power for his own ends, something was dreadfully wrong.

The fact that she was unaware of her surroundings was further proof of this, and she assumed her sisters were in the same position as she: blind, deaf, and for all intents and purposes, mute. They were ancient creatures, and had suffered through vow breakings before. This had never happened before.

As Fairess was pondering this again, for a lack of anything better to do, she abruptly could see and feel, and what she felt was pain. Her body struck the cold stones of the mausoleum roof hard, the sounds of a desperate battle ringing around her. The Sylph was able to shake off her confusion and take assessment of the situation; there were four warriors fighting them, three half-elves and a human who bore a resemblance to their summoner. Two of the half-elves were fighting with magic; one of them was drenched in a different kind of magic. Fairess gasped as she recognized the vibration of that magic, and scrambled back to the sky.

That half-elf child was fending off one of her sisters, desperate in his movements; he was hurt. Fairess lunged at Yutis and wrapped her arms around her sister, dragging Yutis to the ground. "Summoner!" Fairess screeched. "Make your vow!"

"I- but-"

"Do it! _Hurry!_ I can't hold her-"

The half-elf child stuttered for a few more instants; just when Fairess thought that Yutis would fight free of her, he shouted, "I vow to rescue the Kharlan Tree!"

"We accept!" Fairess replied.

Abruptly, Yutis stopped struggling. Although she couldn't see the third sister, she heard Sephie say, very softly, "What- what are we doing?"

The group of warriors edged towards each other again. The moment the Sylph stopped fighting, they did as well; Fairess noted that none of them put their weapons away, though. Her gaze darted over them, her memory hazy. Things that she knew immediately before being suddenly awakened by being hurt fled from her mind. "We've been in a coma of sorts, it seems," Fairess said quietly. "We have no idea what's going on. I'm sure this situation is quite interesting."

The half-elf child stepped forward, clearly anxious. None of his anxiety was reflected in his voice. "I am Mithos," he said. "That's my sister Martel, and my- my friends, Kratos and Yuan." Fairess caught the half-elf's hesitation at the word "friend", as though he was testing the temperature of hot drink. He seemed to like it. "The Kharlan Tree is dying," Mithos continued. All three of the spirits knew this, but didn't interrupt him. "We're trying to save it."

"We know about the condition of the Tree," Yutis informed him. "All of the Spirits can feel it; we get our power from the Tree. The more it declines, the harder it is to control our power."

"I can sense that you've already forged a pact with Efreet," Sephie added. "You're just a child, though." To her sisters, she asked, "Does he have the strength and control to go making these pacts willy-nilly?"

"I don't know," Fairess responded. "But if someone's willing to try, we've got to give him a fair chance." And then she addressed the group again: "But our previous summoner wanted to do this. I know he tried, and I know that we were forced to reject his new vow and break our existing pact. What-" Fairess's voice cracked slightly; there was a chance that they had inadvertently killed the man.

"What became of our previous summoner, do you know?" Sephie asked for her.

"He is alive and unharmed, except perhaps his pride," Kratos answered. "He guided us here to forge the new pact with you. It seems that we have a more immediate problem than the Kharlan Tree, and we absolutely must get your assistance in dealing with it."

Again, the spirits listened patiently to the story of Mesaton's destruction, as well as the attacks on Asgard. By the end of that tale, the Sylph's demeanor was grave. "If this is the demon we think it is," Fairess said quietly, "the situation is much worse than we previously believed. Even with our power going out of control, it should not have released that creature. Its seal was not tied to us once it was done."

"We should go to Asgard as quickly as possible," Yutis said. "If it's already destroyed Mesaton, it'll keep coming back until it is satisfied that Asgard is in a sufficient state of ruin, as well."

"Can you seal it up again?" Yuan asked them, sounding doubtful.

"We can," was Sephie's reply. "Let's go, quickly. We need to get there before it does!"


	10. Chapter 10

Cleo was waiting for the group at the entrance to the mausoleum, anxious and restless. He relaxed as he saw his four companions emerge, no worse for wear. Relief swept over him as he saw his nephew was unharmed. From their descriptions of Kratos' condition after the attack on Mesaton, Cleo thought his recovery was nothing short of miraculous.

His relief turned to alarm and dismay, however, as Kratos stepped over the threshold of the mausoleum. The Knight stopped, put a hand to his head, and dropped to his knees with a gasp. "Kratos!" Martel cried, kneeling beside him, even as he waved her away. "I'm okay," he said, a weakness in his voice that chilled Cleo's heart. "I'm just a little dizzy. Perhaps I pushed myself too hard after what happened in Mesaton."

"You are most certainly not okay, Kratos!" Cleo said, kneeling next to him on his other side. "You're so pale! You're clearly ill!" Before Kratos could object, he looked around at his companions. "He's in no condition to keep fighting."

Kratos snapped an objection, even as Yuan said, "I'm… inclined to agree, your highness. He became extremely dizzy when we were in Triet, as well. I assumed that the heat had gotten to him, but-"

"Triet is his hometown," Cleo cut Yuan off angrily. "How could you think that he was simply overheated?"

"Triet is his hometown but he's lived in Meltokio for years," Martel interjected, upset by the sudden argument. "Tethe'alla is colder than Sylvarant is and Meltokio is certainly cooler than Triet!"

As Cleo began to argue further, Kratos threw up a hand to silence them. "Assuming that I was simply overheated was an entirely reasonable assumption, uncle. And I'm not ill, I'm just exhausted. I've not been sleeping well, and my injuries from Mesaton have been a further drain on my energy. I'm alright. Truly."

The King regarded his nephew in blank disbelief. "Well," he said finally, "you've already said you are not the leader of this little group." The king's pale blue eyes turned to Mithos, who was standing by, watching and listening with an expression of grim worry. "You are, apparently. Your opinion, young sir?"

Mithos shifted uneasily at the mocking undertone in Cleo's voice. "He'll fight with us."

Cleo frowned, obviously not expecting Mithos to respond in such a way. The half-elf had made it abundantly clear that he didn't trust or care for Kratos. Cleo thought Mithos would jump at the opportunity to be rid of the knight. "Why?"

"For one, he says he's okay," Mithos replied immediately. "I think he's got a better handle on how he feels than any of us do. Second, where's he going to go? Mesaton? Palmacosta? Mesaton is in ruins and he needs to go past Asgard to get to Palmacosta."

The King was prepared to admit that the young half-elf did have a few very good points, when Mithos added, "Third, I don't trust you. Having Kratos with us will ensure that you don't do anything ridiculous like try to have us arrested the moment we defeat that wind demon."

"So you're treating Kratos as a hostage," Cleo replied angrily. "Is that it?"

Kratos shook his head, but didn't respond. "No, he's not a hostage," Mithos said with an arrogant smirk. "Do you really think Martel or I have the power to keep a guy like Kratos where he doesn't want to be? Please."

"Yuan can!"

"Yuan's my best friend," Kratos spoke up finally. "If you really think he'd do something like that I don't know what to tell you!"

"He's not a hostage," Mithos added, starting to get upset. "He saved Martel's life, and mine, and he can go anywhere he wants to. Right now, he wants to go with us, and I agree with him. In what universe does someone treat a hostage like that?"

"You just told me you intend to use him to ensure your own safe passage!" Cleo spat.

Mithos put a hand to his forehead. "I don't know how else to put this, sir. His presence will ensure our safe passage. That doesn't change that he can choose to come or go and we're not going to stop him. Meanwhile, that wind demon might be attacking Asgard as we speak and you're trying to convince Kratos that we're bad people. I, for one, am going to go try to stop that demon. You can argue with yourself if that's what strikes your fancy. Come on, guys."

Cleo stared wide-eyed as Yuan helped Kratos to his feet, and the four companions began to walk away, heading back for Asgard. "You impertinent little brat!" he snarled, stumbling to his feet and following him. "I know you're a half-elf but you do _not_ speak to a King in that way! I would even cuff Kratos about the ears for speaking to me like that!"

"All due respect, uncle," Kratos said flatly, "you would not. I wouldn't let you."

"Kratos!"

Kratos stopped, and, ignoring Mithos' groan of irritation, turned back on the King of Asgard. "I wouldn't let you," he repeated angrily. "Just because one has the power to do something doesn't mean he should! If everyone actually paid attention to what they were doing it before they did it, we wouldn't be in this mess with the Yggdrasil! You might not like what Mithos has to say, but what Mithos has to say is _right_ and if you can't see that, your priorities need to be adjusted, sir. Badly."

With that, the swordsman turned on his heel and stalked after his companions. Cleo watched him walk away, stunned, his nephew's words resounding in his head. "You have no idea," Cleo murmured, a feeling of foreboding tightening in his chest as he turned over Kratos' admonition, applying it to his situation.

They stopped again, turning to him. "Your Majesty?" Martel prompted, her expression concerned, the only one of them who seemed worried about the dark tone in his voice.

Cleo simply shook his head. "It's nothing. Kratos and Mithos are both correct. I… I apologize. We need to get to Asgard and stop that demon."

Mithos inclined his head slightly. "Thank you," he said, an undertone of false graciousness in his voice. Cleo jogged to catch up with them and prepared himself for battle. He couldn't do much, especially now with his pact with the Sylph broken.

But Kratos and Mithos were both too precious to allow to come to harm. Mithos was wrong. While Cleo admitted to being every bit as prejudiced as every other human in Sylvarant, he also understood that it was wrong. More than that, he understood, better than all four of them put together, how vital it was that Mithos succeed.

No, Cleo wouldn't have done something so foolish as imprison Mithos. It would be suicide to impede the young half-elf. He had to succeed, or no one would survive the consequences of this war. The Great Tree wasn't intended to bear this kind of burden.

The wind was almost intolerable by the time they approached Asgard. "We're too late!" Cleo yelled over the howling gusts, despairing.

"It's not too late!" Mithos shouted back. He was having trouble keeping his feet planted on the ground; Martel walked beside him and they clung to each other, Martel keeping a firm downward pressure on her young brother, helping him to keep his footing.

Kratos, struggling huddled with Yuan, repeated Mithos' sentiment. "It hasn't begun its assault yet!" he yelled. "It is simply trying to frighten the people now! We may be able to stop the attack itself if we hurry!"

"Does it look like we're able to hurry to you, Kratos?" Yuan retorted.

Mithos had enough of the conversation. "Less talking!" he screamed. "More walking!"

As they struggled forward, the wind suddenly grew icy cold. Kratos and Yuan released each other to free their weapons. "Beware!" Kratos shouted. "It's about to attack!"

The wind circled them, buffeting and violent. "Swordsman!" a voice snarled from all around them. "I thought I killed you in Mesaton!"

"You didn't," Kratos replied over the howling of the demon's winds, brandishing his sword at it. "Although you'll wish you had!"

The demon bellowed out a deafening laugh. "Oh, it seems you've forgotten how ineffective that sharp stick of yours is against me, swordsman. It will be my pleasure to remind you!"

Kratos stepped forward, away from his companions, looking meaningfully at Mithos. Martel cried the knight's name; "Wait!" Mithos said, pulling her back as the wind whipped around them. "This is personal. Let him deal with this!"

Yuan looked over at the young summoner, wide-eyed. "What?"

"Let him deal with this," Mithos repeated, as he focused on Kratos' actions. Yuan's gaze returned to his friend, and an expression of understanding crossed his features. Moments later, as Kratos lunged at the demon, Martel relaxed, feeling her brother's magic begin to slowly rise. He was taking his time, easing into it, mouthing words of magic so slightly that it was barely noticeable. She could only hope that he completed the summoning spell in time. Kratos was still very weak from the assault at Mesaton; he was no match for this wind demon.

The demon seemed aware of this fact, and Yuan and Martel watched helplessly as the demon toyed with their friend, buffeting with gusts of wind Kratos couldn't avoid, and blowing away from him when Kratos attempted to attack. Despite distraction being Kratos' plan, the swordsman was growing increasingly frustrated with the demon's refusal to fight fairly. "You coward!" he screamed. "Fight me!"

"Fool!" The demon's wind kicked up around them again, circling Kratos. "This was a gift, human, to merely entertain myself until your friends decided to intervene on your behalf. I see now that they intend to do no such thing. And what a shame! To face death and know that your friends couldn't be bothered to lift a finger to try to save you… I hope they don't think I'll spare them because they're not fighting me."

For the first time, the wind demon paid attention to Kratos' companions. He sneered at Cleo, Yuan and Martel, not sensing that they were powerful enough to harm him; when he laid eyes on Mithos, though, the demon sucked in a breath, eyes widening. The creature bellowed, "No!" as Mithos abruptly raised his voice, finishing his summoning spell. Three beams of sparkling light surrounded Mithos, flowing counter to the demon's wind. The light expanded outward, wrapping around the party and forcing back the demon's gale.

As the demon shrieked its rage, the three Sylph blinked into existence around it. The three summon spirits attacked at the same moment, overwhelming the demon; subdued, the demon howled once more before the wind quieted to the gentle, warm breeze produced by the Sylph's own magic.

Yutis glanced around, frowning, until her gaze fell on Cleo. The frown softened as she said, "It is a relief to see you are well and unharmed, Your Highness."

Cleo inclined his head in acknowledgement and cut to the chase. "You've clearly subdued the demon; but what do we do with him now?"

"That's the million gald question, now isn't it," Fairess answered, looking around as well now. Her gaze fell on the palace, and she grimaced. "We could put him in there, I suppose. How quickly can you get it evacuated?"

Kratos and Cleo looked at each other, both men clearly balking at the suggestion. "All due respect," Kratos said in a halting voice, "but there are hundreds of people who reside in the palace, and who are taking shelter there after the demon's first attack. Sealing the demon inside the palace would displace all of those people, and we don't have shelter for them."

Yutis' sour expression returned. "Do you see anywhere else to put him, swordsman?" she demanded. "We can't destroy him. We're not strong enough to. You aren't, either, that much is absolutely evident."

Sephie, gentler than her sisters, offered, "As long as our pact remains fully in tact, our seal will hold. I don't think Mithos intends to violate his pact with us; therefore the demon should stay there for at least as long as Mithos lives."

Cleo grimaced, not liking this decision he had to make. But then again… "I don't have much of a choice, do I?" he asked quietly.

"No," Sephie replied. "All due respect, sir, but we wouldn't be in this position if you'd taken our advice and not broken your vow with us. This is largely your fault. While housing is a concern, it is yours, not ours, and no one is going to die if you evacuate that castle. He's going in there whether you do or not."

The king's jaw clenched, his eyes flashed with indignant anger. For a moment, they all thought that Cleo was going to lash out at the summon spirits, declare their plan unacceptable and demand that they come up with a new one. But then he bowed his head in submission. "Can you hold him for four hours?"

All three of the spirits seemed to relax then. The warm, comforting wind around them calmed further. "I believe that is well within our abilities," Fairess answered graciously. "Just focus on getting the castle completely evacuated. We'll seal him inside when you give us your okay."

Cleo nodded. "We need to go," he told the four companions. "Come on. We need to do this as quickly as possible."

* * *

In just under four hours, the Sylph gratefully appropriated Asgard Castle to seal the demon. "I was getting so sick of listening to him," Yutis griped. "He went from whining at us that we were his sisters and we couldn't do this to him to swearing that he'd rip us all limb from limb if we didn't release him."

"It's done with now," Cleo replied. "He can't harm anyone else, correct?"

"As long as our vow is not broken," Sephie answered, gazing at Mithos.

Mithos inclined his head to them. "I won't break that vow, I promise," he said solemnly. "We don't want that thing getting out to hurt more people, ever."

"Hopefully time will weaken him," Fairess said. "It would be nice if we could someday vanquish him, rather than just sealing him."

"If that's a possibility," Kratos said, "it'll be after the people deal with rebuilding. I'm sure that between the Mesaton refugees and those who were hurt in the demon's attack here, they want to have some time to breathe before we think of vanquishing him."

"Plus, we have a rather more pressing issue," Mithos added. "We're just a tiny bit closer to saving the Great Kharlan Tree."

Cleo's demeanor turned even more serious. "Indeed," he said, his tone genuinely respectful for the first time since they met. "I believe I have some information that you might find useful in your endeavor, young summoner. I'm still working out where exactly we're going to stay, as the castle was, as you know, being used as a refuge, but we will figure it out. When that happens, I would appreciate it if you and your companions would join me for the night. We have much to discuss."

Seeing Mithos about to decline, and abruptly as well, Kratos intervened. "We would be happy to accept your gracious offer, your majesty," he said quickly.

Cleo smiled tightly at Kratos' save. "Then I'll have one of my personal guards escort you to the proper place at the proper time," he said.

As Cleo walked away, Mithos turned to Kratos angrily. "If I'm your leader, then why aren't you letting me lead?" he demanded. "I want nothing to do with that jerk!"

"And I don't blame you," Kratos returned. "I'm not even going to try to make excuses for his behavior. That said, he can be very, very useful. He says he has information. Snub him all you want _after_ we get what we need from him. Doing so when he's willing to help is nothing short of utterly foolish."

"After how he's treated us, you want me to bother?" Mithos snapped.

"And that's not an option!" Kratos snapped back. "Part of being a leader is being able to swallow your pride and do something you don't want to do. Especially if it is something that will be helpful in the long run!"

Mithos' only response was to glower angrily at him. Kratos sighed, shook his head, and headed off in the direction that Cleo had gone in. The quicker they got this situation resolved, the faster they could get back on the road and the faster Kratos could get away from Asgard and his uncle. If only Mithos knew just how little he wanted to entertain Cleo, he'd understand.

Unfortunately, in order for Mithos to understand that, Kratos would have to tell him things that he wasn't willing to talk about. So much for doing things one didn't want to do but would be helpful in the long run.

Hours later, Kratos stared up at the starry night sky, unable to sleep. He was exhausted; he wanted desperately to join his companions in slumber, but it seemed that his body had other plans. Despite his exhaustion, he felt as though he was wide awake, completely refreshed and ready for another day of hard traveling.

His uncle's information was going to be useful indeed. He'd been informed, while they were working on reshifting the people of the city, that King Meltokio had been in contact with Asgard and wanted them to surrender Kratos immediately. According to the messenger, the Princess had argued vehemently in Kratos' defense and told King Meltokio of many things that he'd been previously unaware of, and now was willing to listen to Kratos' defense for killing his son.

The messenger was told that Kratos had been granted asylum and a recounting of Kratos' version of events, given when the party first arrived. As it was clearly self-defense, Cleo wouldn't be turning his nephew over, no, and Kratos was currently on an extremely important mission from Cleo at the moment anyway.

All this was done without Kratos' knowledge and the messenger was being escorted back to the border before Kratos found out about it. The disgraced knight hadn't been the slightest bit pleased with this information; he knew that Meltokio would take that manner of refusal as an act of aggression and could think of fifty different, better ways to phrase just about everything. "There's nothing that can be done about it now," Cleo said with a wave of his hand. "Right now, you need to focus on getting Mithos those pacts. You'll be heading back to Tethe'alla soon enough for the pacts from the spirits there. He can wait. The Great Tree cannot."

That had been the end of the conversation, as far as Cleo was concerned; and he'd turned the conversation to their quest. They'd taken a detour to help Asgard; by Cleo's estimation, it was probably better for them to go form the pact with Luna and Aska. That would take them deeper into Sylvarant and ensure that any forces King Meltokio sent after Kratos would be stopped before they could reach the party. They would then report back to Asgard for further instructions in their journey back south to Palmacosta. Cleo would send a messenger to Maxwell to let him know that they would be returning to him shortly to finish their circuit around the world and to make contact with his summoner in Flanoir to alert her that they would be on their way.

It was that last part of the plan that had Kratos unable to sleep this time, he was sure. He knew who Maxwell's summoner was now; he asked for confirmation, but Cleo became quiet and reticent, telling him only to focus on the tasks at hand before traveling to Flanoir. When Kratos appeared to prepare to argue further, Yuan put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. "Leave it alone, Kratos."

And so, it was clear to Martel and Mithos both that Kratos, Yuan and Cleo all knew who the summoner in Flanoir was, and that, whoever it was, it was causing Kratos an immense amount of turmoil; it didn't take much observation for Mithos to see that Kratos' turmoil was supplemented by a healthy dose of pain. A former lover? A former friend? Whoever it was, Mithos felt bad for Kratos. He couldn't do much about it except brace himself.

Kratos didn't want anyone's sympathy, gruffly brushed off the half-elf child's expression of concern, and went out to a park, where he laid down on the grass, stared up at the sky, and stayed there. Awake. Ruminating. Dreading.

Mithos was still worried about Kratos; however, he also would not be brushed off like that, especially not by a human. It took him several hours to figure out how he would get Kratos to start talking to him. But finally, he had it.

He would ask Kratos to teach him how to use a sword.

It wasn't hard for Mithos to come up with an excuse why Kratos should do that: he hadn't drawn his weapon once in this journey so far, choosing to support his companions with magic. Kratos was observant, from what Mithos could tell. He'd have noticed that by then. He was sure Kratos would want him to learn how to use a proper weapon. After all, one's magic didn't last forever.

The boy approached Kratos cautiously, determined that if he was asleep, Mithos would leave him alone. He'd noticed that Kratos wasn't really sleeping well, either. Unfortunately, it was dark and Mithos couldn't tell one way or another; he'd have to ask and risk waking him up in the process, if he was sleeping.

Fortunately, Kratos noticed him and sat up. "I'm awake," he said quietly. "You aren't disturbing me."

Reassured, Mithos approached without hesitation. "I wanted to ask you for a favor."

"I'm listening."

"I want you to teach me how to use a sword."

That immediately had Kratos' attention. The swordsman stood up, nodding approvingly. "Very well. Do you have any experience with edged weapons?" Mithos shook his head, and Kratos replied, "Use words, please. While that was obvious, you want to get into the habit of verbally responding to everything. Your companions will not be able to see visual responses while you're in battle."

Mithos made a face at him. "Do you think all half-elves are stupid enough to not know that, or am I a special case?"

Kratos looked him in the eyes and replied, "I speak from personal experience that got two of my friends killed in battle. It isn't a matter of stupidity, it's a matter of habit. When you're heavily engaged in something requiring all of your attention, habit takes over. If you're in the habit of responding with visual cues, you will use them in battle without thinking about it. Use words."

"O-oh…" Mithos could feel himself blush, feeling awful at the stern tone Kratos took with him. "B-but wait! You nodded to me when you agreed to teach me!"

"I was nodding to myself. You did not ask me a question; you issued a statement. Furthermore, I followed up my nod- the visual cue- with words that acknowledged your statement. I've not contradicted myself. _Use words_."

"No, I don't have experience with edged weapons," Mithos finally mumbled, thoroughly reprimanded now.

"You might want to work on speaking clearly as well," Kratos said, his tone lightly teasing, "but we'll overlook that. What weapons do you have experience in using?"

Mithos blanched. "W-why do you want to know?"

"So I have an idea of what techniques you're already familiar with."

"M-Magic attacks."

Kratos set him with a stern look. "Lesson number two- don't lie to your companions. I see the way you move in battle, even if I've never seen your weapon. You use one. What is it?"

He didn't like Kratos' authoritative tone, but he liked the idea of Kratos deciding not to train him even less. Thus, hesitantly, he drew his weapon and showed it to him. Rather than laughing or commenting on what it was, Kratos simply nodded and said, "A kendama. Alright. The first thing we must establish, then, is-"

"Is that I fight with a toy," Mithos cut him off bitterly, humiliated and looking away.

Kratos put his hands on the boy's shoulder. "Yes, that is the most common use for it," he said. "It is also an instrument to exercise dexterity, reflexes, and coordination. You can use it as a weapon because it is designed to be used as all three. I assure you that there is nothing to be embarrassed by here."

Mithos managed a rueful smile. "I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but…"

"Mithos, I cannot use the kendama for anything at all. I cannot even play the game."

"Wh-what?"

Kratos held out a hand. "I'll demonstrate if you allow me to use it." Mithos eyed him incredulously, but gave it to him. "Thank you. Now, keep in mind that I am a knight, your senior in years, and now, your instructor. At any other time, we are equals. Now? We are not."

The young half-elf nodded, getting Kratos' implication: if he wanted to make Mithos feel better, he'd chose to do it in a way that he didn't lead Mithos to believe he was more skilled than Kratos. There was no reason for him to fake failure in this case.

Yet fail he did, one, two, three times. Mithos could tell that the swordsman was genuinely trying to catch the ball, but it was no use. After the fifth failure, Kratos handed it back to him, glaring at it vehemently. "I've never been able to use a kendama," he said, the demonstration, even though it was voluntary, taking a toll on the man's pride.

As for Mithos, he was wide-eyed. "Wow. And you were really trying, too. It's super easy for me and Martel. Is it because you're human?"

Kratos shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Neither Yuan nor his father can master the thing, either, although his father does come close sometimes."

Mithos looked at his kendama thoughtfully, and then channeled the magic into it that he needed to collapse it into something he could carry in his pocket again. "Anyway… that's the only weapon I have training in," he said. "Nothing at all like a sword."

"On the contrary," Kratos said, grinning broadly. "I must ask you to stick with the kendama for now; I will procure two wooden training swords before we leave, and we shall train together. I'll start you with exercises that you should be familiar with due to your experience with the kendama. At least, you will find the motions familiar."

"Can't we start now?"

"You need to sleep."

"I'm not tired."

"Well, I suppose that is a problem," Kratos said, and then nodded to himself again. "Come, then. I'll see if the blacksmith is still awake and can provide us with our practice swords. A little training will cure you of your insomnia very quickly."


End file.
